Happy Ending
by Ardespuffy
Summary: " ... This is the hardest story that I've ever told..." ჯAn IchiHitsu modern fairytale. AU. Yaoi. Mature content. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

**WARNINGS: **AU, yaoi, mature content. Set in a non-magical universe. Smut n' angst throughout the entire fic.

**A/N: **hello everyone ^o^. Thanks for dropping by. Just a few things I need to set straight before we start: _Happy Ending _was born as a spin-off to _Lust Time, _the second chapter of my other story _Thrice In Our Lives_. For those who haven't read that fic, I'm posting it again here as a prologue so everyone gets the gist of matters. Hope you enjoy your reading. ;-)

* * *

**. Prologue**

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* * *

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The crowd is restless. No wonder per se: long queue plus short patience equals endless moaning, Toshiro ponders, wrapping his arms tighter around his own slender form. It doesn't help that it's bloody freezing too, he figures. As far as he's concerned that is actually the only bright spot, but still.

Matsumoto's sudden cry of exhaustion catches his attention. "Nnngyah! I can't take it anymore, this is getting ridiculous! Last time we were here this place was so bad off they nearly begged us to come, and look now! We'll be lucky enough to step foot in at the rate we're goin'. Hell, is this how they treat old friends? To think I've pestered you about this all week! Y'know, I'm starting to think you were right all along, Shiro-chan."

Those words sound like music to the boy's ears, so much in fact Toshiro fails to get back at the girl for using the hated nickname. "It's not too late to slink off. I promise no 'told you so's if we leave now."

"Nah, what's the point in dropping after we've come so far? Look, line's moving. Stay beside me or they'll tread upon you, little thing!" Here Matsumoto does the most humiliating… – namely, takes the admittedly short boy's hand in hers and fucking _drags_ him along to slide with the flow.

By the time they finally reach the entrance, Toshiro's face is crimson with hate and utter embarrassment. To make matters worse, the tall, impressively well-built bouncer at the door is staring through dark sunglasses – most unnecessary, it's past bloody two in the morning – at the strange couple, looking all but eager to let them in. "Sssso… guess you thought something gave you the right to take me for a fool, ne?"

Matsumoto folds her arms across her massive, scarcely clothed breasts. "Whadda hell is this supposed to mean? We've been in line for bloody forever, you can't not let us enter!"

Wrong thing to say. The black-clad brute spits rudely at his feet. "I can and I will keep you out if you don't watch that trap of yours, beauty. Besides, what were you expecting brining a kid with you? Is it a new pick up technique I don't know of, or – wait, you're not a teenage mom, are you?" The man peers above the edge of his dark lens. "Nope, definitely too old for that."

In a moment the unadulterated fury radiating off Matsumoto's body seems to heat up even the chilling air. Toshiro rubs his temples and curses under his breath. Damn fucktard will never hear the end of it if he doesn't step in before the blond woman bursts. "There's no need for silly assumptions. I've got my ID right here. Take a look and you'll see I'm of age."

Albeit visibly annoyed at the condescending tone, the bouncer does as much. "Phew, whoa? You twenty-three, like hell! Don't ye fuck with me, boyo, or else…!"

"It's okay, Iba. Let 'em in."

_That_ voice, the only one Toshiro could recognize any bloody where, even with the raging roar of the crowd behind him and the loud beat of the music coming from inside.

"Ichigooo ~ !" Murderous instinct kicked aside for the moment, Matsumoto leaps into the orange-haired newcomer's arms, nearly suffocating the guy with her huge boobs. "Thank God you've showed up, I was just about to jeopardize my criminal record again!"

"C-Criminal… _what_?" Iba, the bouncer, sputters in disbelief, but no one minds him.

"It's great to see you back around. Come on in." Ichigo gently urges the woman to follow him inside the dim lit nightclub, stopping to glance back over his shoulders at the reluctant boy behind them. "What about you?"

Toshiro averts his eyes quickly. _Damn it all to hell._ True, given that Kurosaki Ichigo is to the infamous _Gotei_ disco club what Bill Gates is to Microsoft Corporation it had been pretty foolish of him to hope he and Matsumoto could sneak in without the redhead noticing – but Toshiro had been in desperate need of a shining utopia to cling onto ever since his smoky former flatmate had started considering dropping by Kurosaki's club to 'greet a few friends' before she was forced to leave town again due to her free-lancer job. Since the silver-haired young man's yet to succeed denying Matsumoto pretty much anything…

"What? Are you sure we should let him in, Kurosaki-san? He's just a brat!"

The vein on Toshiro's forehead throbs dangerously under the bouncer's sceptical scrutiny. Before he gets the chance to stand up for himself, however, the carrot-top youth gives Iba a friendly slap on the back. "Don't worry. He's with me."

_Nnngghffuck._ Toshiro feels his stomach churn at that. How dare the bloody asshole speak of him so freely, like – ? "Am not!" He barks as viciously as he can.

Here's when their eyes lock. Gods, does Toshiro know that gaze. Ichigo has got the unique ability to look right through him, bring his hidden secrets to the fore then shrug them away with a nonchalant smile and, sometimes in the past, those crazily skilled hands of his… which Toshiro will not be thinking about not now nor ever, thank you very much. Even now Ichigo's lips are arched in a mock-innocent grin. "Don't mind him, Iba. He's just too shy to admit it, but we are together." His light brown eyes take on a glint of mischief as the man goes on. "I meant we're _all_ together, like an ol' big family. How would playing in as my little brother suit you, Toshiro?"

Damn motherfucking bastard. Toshiro can practically sense the flaming waves of embarrassment flowing off his own body as the redhead's eyes bore into his, as full of promises and sins as they always were. As they were back when – _as they were last time._ Then again, Toshiro tells himself, every sodding time is just another last time for the two of them.

"Huh, not to break the tension n' all but people are waiting, bumpkin-san. We'd better get moving and let these poor things have their turn as well." With just about the perfect timing Matsumoto grabs Toshiro's arm and pulls him unceremoniously inside the club, past Iba's surveillance range. "Now, show us around, will you Ichigo? It's been a long time since shorty and I last dropped by."

Toshiro feels his cheeks grow scarlet, not so much at the blonde's words – which, for the record, happen to hold a, mmh, a technical imprecision about them, meaning they are, huh, kind of, mh, well, _untrue_ – but rather at the knowing glance Ichigo sneaks him behind Matsumoto's back. The smirk that blooms on the redhead's face soon enough speaks volumes. "Long time indeed. Why, follow me."

A strong arm props down casually around Toshiro's shoulders, causing the youth to stiffen and nearly trample over a stair-step. Ichigo's leer all but grows wider. "After all," he adds in a voice that sends shivers down Toshiro's spine, "we gotta make up for lost time."

It's going to be a long, long night – the silver-haired boy suddenly realizes.

* * *

The motherfucker is staring, Toshiro can tell. His prickling skin is always an indication of people watching him, and right now – right now his whole body's tingling with yearn, very annoyingly so. _That's the Kurosaki-effect for you, I guess._ There's just something about the redhead's stare that makes Toshiro feel like getting out of his clothes here and now. The white-haired boy sighs while nervously playing with the whatsitagain drink in his hand, teal eyes scanning the crowd nonchalantly. _Hope so. _It's no use trying to look at someone else when Ichigo's in the room, though, and Toshiro finds his gaze drawn to the redhead's once more.

And it's not like, he muses, the man is outstanding or something. Well, apart from the bright orange hair, which stands out in the crowd alright. Sure, Ichigo has got a nice body – warm in all the right places, well-built and mortifyingly comfortable to lean against in moments of intimacy – a smartass smile – that can switch to 'tender and caring lover' mode in seconds – and good tastes in clothing – hell, he looks positively killer in black shirt and pants… but that's just about it, really. Plain looks all in all. Nothing particularly enticing to stare at. Then why can't Toshiro seem to do anything but? _Jerk. He's a jerk and you're worse off, 'cause you want him so much it's bad for your health. How pathetic._

Their eyes meet across the dance floor.

Ichigo has to bite on his lower lip to stop himself from shouting an invitation of some sort. That Toshiro would dump Matsumoto right upon stepping into the club is bad enough, but that he'd rather sit at the bar all by himself looking that illegally fuckable is more than any man in their right mind could bear. Sighing in self pity (seriously, he could have pretty much anyone he'd want in that room, yet he's stuck obsessing over an uptight midget – how's that even fair?) Ichigo wills himself to look away. After the last time they were together – which is not as far in time as Matsumoto must have been led to believe anyway – the redhead had made a point to stay the fuck away from Toshiro unless the boy came to him first. _Yeah, right, like that's ever gonna happen. Then again, as long as it's all watching no touching…_ Sweet temptation has the better on him and Ichigo turns, his eyes drinking in the sight before them.

Gods, the boy drives him bloody insane. True, Toshiro might look like a kid nine-tenths of the time, but the way he acts around people, like he could really care less what everybody's thinking makes for one hell of a turn-on to Ichigo. Even though he knows way better than to buy it, the redhead reminds himself with a soft, sad smile. In truth Toshiro's utter fear of others' judgement has been one obstacle too many between them, second to their awful timing. _But_ _things weren't always so shitty._ There had been a period they could actually talk and enjoy each other's company in public before ending up in bed together – sharing a real bed, _that too has changed_, replaced by rushed shagging in dark alleys whenever their pride cracks and their masks fall off. Ichigo knows they have screwed up big time. Somehow it feels like it's all broken beyond remedy now.

Chocolate brown eyes lock with pale ocean ones for the second time across the crowded room.

It's just a matter of seconds before Toshiro climbs off the stool he'd been slouched on, never breaking eye contact. _Fuck it._ He's sick and tired of listening to the frantic pumping in his chest without acting on it, not to mention his other, easily figured bodily reactions. Ichigo ignites him. Despite his exceptionally high IQ Toshiro can't think of a single good reason why the redhead should have that much power over him, but he does, and – that's kind of the problem, Toshiro can't even think when the fucker is around, and it annoys him to no end, but it's just the way things are. Little harm if it sucks. _That's it, this is the last time. I swear this is going to be the last time we…_

Ichigo watches in disbelief as the smaller boy strides over the throng to reach him, then stops halfway as if struck by a sudden thought. _Surely he can't be suggesting…?_ Toshiro takes a quick look around before nodding toward the back of the club and sneaking that way, motioning for the carrot-top man to follow with a curt shake of his head. _Well, fuck. This being the case…_ Upon making sure no one is looking his way, Ichigo mingles with the crowd, ready to slip away at the best given moment. Finally, finally the blood feels hot in his veins. The redhead has got absolutely no idea what came over his ever reluctant lover, but god knows he's not passing on a perfect chance at intimacy now that Toshiro barely speaks to him at all. They do need to have a chat, that much is sure. _Whatever else may spark_, Ichigo tells himself while strolling over the dance floor, _'s just gonna be additional benefits. Nothing relevant nor emotionally compromising. Screw this shit. _

Wishful thinking never really hurt anyone, has it?

* * *

Music's too fucking loud. Damn it. Toshiro had been too enthralled to notice before, but right now, whilst standing with his back against the wall in the dark storage room, waiting and cursing to himself, he's painfully aware of pretty much anything, any change in his surroundings, any beat of the bloody techno – shit, he knows for sure Ichigo doesn't like this crappy music more than he does – any scent, any noise, any shadow. Craving and longing and pure unadulterated need shake his body so hard Toshiro fears he's going to pass out cold. Which is funny, really, since it's blood hot in there. How he'd rather be out in the freezing December, instead of –

"Oi."

_Tch._ "Took you long enough."

Ichigo smiles that condescending smile of his that unnerves the smaller boy to no end. "Not as long as it took you to show up around here again. How've you been?"

A cool shiver runs down Toshiro's spine. Odd. "Busy. You?" Shit, screw small talk! He doesn't even care how's the motherfucker been, goddamnit. This is so stupid, but it seems like it can't be helped.

"This and that." The redhead shrugs and takes a step further into the tiny room (Toshiro doesn't fail to notice). "Sorry 'bout before. Lad at the door's new."

"Don't mention it."

" 'kay."

Silence. Well, except for the sodding techno music coming in stereo. Toshiro drags sheepishly his heels on the ground. He's ever grateful for the darkness protecting him from Ichigo's brain-melting stare, since the man's sole aura is enough to make his breath quicken. His smell fills up the storage room, invades Toshiro's nostrils with its musky, slightly metallic quality. Smells like a street fighter's blood, even though classy, well-off Kurosaki jr. is anything but. The silver-haired boy snickers to himself. Classy, yet not above shoving his precious dick up another man's ass in a dirty alley right behind the family club.

"So… you haven't told Matsumoto about us."

Ichigo's words shake the smaller youth to awareness. "There's no us."

A short, cheerless laugh. Then: "Get a grip. I just meant you lied to her 'bout the last time you were here." The redhead's features soften in a moment. "It's not like you to tell stories. What happened?"

Toshiro feels suddenly very much conscious of their proximity. As putting physical distance among them is currently impossible, though, cool words alone shall do. "Nothing happened. That's exactly the point."

Now that he's close enough, Ichigo is wasting no chances at human contact. His hand reaches out to pull at Toshiro's black sweater, fingers fumbling playfully with the hem. "Let me guess. Last time was a mistake." He suggests in a light happy tone, visibly mocking the other boy's cold façade. Then a darker shade of something Toshiro can't quite put his finger on crosses the chocolate eyes, and Ichigo leans forward, his face coming to rest a mere breath away from the silver-haired man's. "What's this time gonna be then?"

And they're kissing, gripping at each other's fronts for dear life, their tongues wrestling and lips smashing with little care. Toshiro yanks the redhead by the shirt, pulling him flush against his own thinner form and ripping a button or two in the process. They're melding together again, like they always have, and there's no bloody denying it is purely intoxicating. _Fuck, his body_ –

Ichigo's knee slips to spread the silver head's legs apart before openly rubbing at the boy's cloth-covered crotch. Toshiro moans in the kiss, his own hands rushing to pull at the other's belt. There's no point in fooling around for people like them, people who know exactly what they want and how to get it. At least, that's what Toshiro has been thinking until a strong hand clasps his wrist and holds it in place, inches above the redhead's waistline.

"Here?"

Relief comes so intense the white-haired youth feels like screaming at the top of his lungs. "Dun care." He growls in-between kisses. "Jus' geron with it."

Ichigo obeys and Toshiro's fly springs open, exposing a full hard-on clad in grey boxers. The redhead's hand is instantly shoved down the unfastened pants, tugging them to slide mid-thigh. Someway through the shorter boy's shuffling Kurosaki's expensive leather belt ends up thrown carelessly on the ground, but the young man doesn't seem to mind nor notice for that matter – he's too busy groping Toshiro's ass in order to lift him up against the wall.

Teal eyes hold his gaze, seeming to look right through him. _Only you_, Ichigo wants to say, but manages to bite it back just before the words tumble out of his mouth. That's not the kind of things either of them needs right now. _Right_ _now_, meaning he's only sticking to hushed quickies till better days come – days when Toshiro will be able to look at him without seeing the man who shot him down while he was experiencing his first real crush. Some faults you're never really done amending for, Ichigo considers.

Toshiro shifts against the shelf poking him in the back. When he'd first walked in the narrow room he'd been too flustered to take a nice look at his surroundings; now he totally regrets it. Whatever it is that Ichigo has him pinned to is nudging his spine uncomfortably and, what's even crazier, Toshiro is _loving_ it. He's loving every minute of Ichigo's hands groping his butt, every minute of the man's tongue fucking his mouth, every bloody minute of their hips rolling together and now partly covered arousals rubbing each other. Ichigo is thick and hard and, goddamnit, his kisses alone have Toshiro squirm to hold back the desperate leaking of his eager, eager cock. The redhead's right hand slips to the front of his boxers, palming him roughly through the fabric. A loud hiss is heard. "Damn, Ichigo…"

Kurosaki takes advantage of the other one breaking their kiss to bite down hard on his own lower lip. Anyone who knew Hitsugaya Toshiro as the boy was in his daily life would never believe how sensitive he got during sex. That small body responds to all kind of stimulation so wantonly, reacts to every touch so strongly it has Ichigo lose his mind completely. After laying his lover's thin frame on a big paperboard box resting against the wall beside them, the orange-haired youth takes a step back to put some distance between them, then drops to his knees.

_Shit_, is all the none-too-elaborate thinking going on in Toshiro's mind while the man's body arches into the deliciously wicked mouth working over his shaft. Ichigo nuzzles the white-haired boy's crotch, breathing in the strong musky scent of arousal; then a skilled tongue darts past the redhead's lips and gives said clothed erection a hard lick. Toshiro's hips buck forward as the boy moans helplessly. Damnit, _damnit, you bloody fucker._ Only Ichigo has ever done – no, could ever do – this to him, reduce him to an incoherent, begging pool of lust. Such a disgraceful scene to witness, Toshiro reckons, but he Can't. Help. It. And it's not like he hasn't tried, even though every night spent in his bed alone knowing what he's losing takes just the tiniest shred of his scattered heart away. One by one, till nothing remains. _That's it. I want to love you till there's nothing left,_

… _but…_

Ichigo is still tonguing him through his cloth, ravishing him expertly, when Toshiro pulls at his hair to jerk him away. They lock eyes for a moment, both men panting and needy and broken. Teal orbs screw shut, which the redhead misinterprets as his cue to take things to the next level. Thoroughly wetted boxers slide off, and Toshiro feels the corners of his eyes tingle with pent-up tears.

… _what's the point if every time…_

A rustling sound and Ichigo is back on his feet, his shoes and pants discarded into a ball on the floor. Toshro wraps his skinny legs around his partner's waist, growling with feral possessiveness as their bare erections clash. The redhead's lips press against his in a soft peck before moving toward his earlobe, where they take their time nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. Just as Toshiro's about to demandingly grind his hips into his lover's, Ichigo lets out a quiet murmur, which somehow has the white-haired man's eyes water up even more. "Slow down, li'l thing. Gotta make it good for you."

… _is__ but another last time?_

Toshiro coaxes his lover into a harsh kiss lest those blasted tears give his inner anguish away. Ichigo doesn't seem to notice the wet, salted trails on his cheeks; in a moment he's adjusting to brush at Toshiro's entrance with the tip of his throbbing length, leaving little doubt what his intentions are.

"Wait. Let… lemme – "

The redhead draws back to give the smaller boy room to climb off the box and prop down on his knees. Understanding creeps over Ichigo's formerly puzzled face as Toshiro lifts his gaze to look at him from his telltale position between the other's spread legs. "Haven't been with anyone since – " The kneeling boy trails off mid-sentence and averts his eyes, probably, Ichigo muses, afraid to show all the sheer emotion in them. Well, too late for that. "… watch out." Toshiro mumbles at last, and it's the lamest warning ever, really, since a moment later his tongue is lapping at the redhead's bouncing cock, kissing all reasonable thought away. Ichigo can't help but whimper as his partner takes to sucking him off hurriedly, careful to coat the whole length in saliva before deep-throating him.

Toshiro knows he's really, really not supposed to be enjoying this, but truth is he has to force himself to pull away. The mere sight of Ichigo's red, glistening cock so close to his own face, though, threatens to send him over the edge and he subconsciously grips the man's firm butt cheeks to steady himself. Too bad the soft gasp this elicits from the taller boy draws Toshiro to take the pleading hard-on in his mouth again. _Talk about giving _swallow the bait_ a whole new meaning_, his sense of humour screams somewhere very well hidden inside of him, but the irony's lost on the withering, grunting mess that Ichigo has become. The engorged head hits repeatedly the roof of Toshiro's mouth as Kurosaki fidgets; just when the white-haired boy is preparing to welcome the hot flesh down his throat, though, his lover pulls away with an abrupt jerk of his hips. "Point made." Ichigo mutters, lust-glazed eyes boring into their partners. "C'mere."

No sooner has Toshiro risen to his feet than he's once more pinned against the wall by the redhead's broad chest. Cloth covered chest, the boy recalls before tugging at the offending garment separating him from Ichigo's warm, _so hideously warm_ skin. The black shirt he had previously admired comes off smoothly, leaving him to the contemplation of something equally worth admiring. Now, if only the pointed rubbing of Ichigo's moist tip against his opening wasn't so distracting…

Husky whispering reaches his ears. "Brace yourself. I want you to feel this." Ichigo all but breathes, his hold on the other man's thighs tightening. Toshiro only catches a glimpse of his face in the dim light, but it's enough to make him shiver at the bitter half-smile there. " 'tis our last time after all, innit?"

After that it's all pushing in and pulling out, in and out, delving each time deeper – deeper than hurt, deeper than time, and why does Toshiro feel like crying anyway? – just to make the retreat sting all the more – the loss, ever present, haunting him, Ichigo knows his wrongs and he can't make up. Every kiss a promise, every sigh a truce, every moan a dagger. Silence. Silent, for god's sake, lest their well-rehearsed sappy play take the wrong turn – that for tragedy or sodding happy ending, it doesn't even matter. This is all they've got.

It doesn't help that it feels so incredibly good, either, Toshiro tells himself as a particularly harsh thrust has him throw his head back and cry in ecstasy. Here and now, this moment in space – Ichigo sheathed balls-deep inside him, plunging against his prostate with every erratic jolt of his hips – seems great enough to make all the hurt go away, big enough to make a change. Except that nothing really ever changes, and every time all but hurts worse.

Just the tiny bit harder, just the tiny bit faster. Ichigo is struggling to catch his breath. Toshiro's walls embrace him, lull him, lead him on, then suck him into their darkest core and hold him there, right on the edge, not a single step over. _Bloody story of my life_, the redhead broods. What if… damn it. What if he crossed the sodding threshold for once? What if he did take that one step beyond any line they might have drawn in time? _Sure it can't get any worse than this._

Suddenly Ichigo is tugging at Toshiro's boat neckline with his teeth, desperate for more contact. The silver-haired man shudders as a hot mouth closes over his collarbone, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses in its wake. And here he was thinking this couldn't get any more arousing… Ichigo licks and sucks at his pulse point, making Toshiro clench so hard around him the redhead needs to slow down his pace a little not to lose control. The words he's longed to say and hear for a long time seep through his lips with no restraints. "Love you. I love you." And he steals his partner's mouth, if not to make a point, at least to silence him before the boy can dismiss his confession as incoherent sex babbling. Which Toshiro is definitely bound to do, since –

"You too." A quiet gasp against his lips. Ichigo is so stunned his movements cease almost completely; that is, until Toshiro moans his disapproval and takes matters into his own hands, riding the redhead's erection in long, powerful thrusts. The smaller boy smirks to himself at Ichigo's obvious surprise. Hell, the man can be so naïve. _I love you, you love me, what does it change?_ This ain't going to end up with some _sitting in a tree holding hands and k-i-s-s-i-n-g_ bullshit. Love's no nursery rhyme, _their_ love's no nursery rhyme, and Toshiro has learnt to make the most of every moment 'cause they're so hardly given any second chances. That said, it's about time Kurosaki stops thinking and focuses on what he's best at. The white-haired youth makes sure he's got all of the redhead's attention by kissing him roughly, pinching his nipples and squeezing the life out of him with his practised inner muscles all at the same time.

The outcome is brilliant. Ichigo growls against his neck, a deep, low sound that has Toshiro's skin prickle with excitement, then picks up a fast if unsteady pace. The hot hard-on sliding in and out of his body is splitting Hitsugaya in two, but nothing ever felt quite this satisfying before. Arching his back to meet Ichigo's every thrust, the white-haired genius feels his climax build and instinctively takes a look around in search of something to support him through the fierce jolts of pleasure coming up. Not finding it, he settles for his lover's shoulders and slumps against the boy, crushing him with his whole – admittedly irrelevant – weight. Incidentally, the new closeness allows him to grind his erection nicely into Ichigo's stomach, and Toshiro finds himself struggling to stay conscious among all the pounding and the stroking _and _his partner's illegally clever tongue doing little naughty things to his earlobes and jaw line.

This is the moment Ichigo likes best, the one he treasures for future reference when all alone in his bedroom: Toshiro lets himself go completely and begs for release with everything he's got, too enthralled to notice all the little freedoms his partner is taking – like feeling up those marvellously smooth butt cheeks or flicking his tongue over the cold boy's ear shell.

They've fallen into a crazy rhythm now: every time Ichigo slams his dick in, Toshiro is pushed more forcefully against the wall. Several glass bottles start wobbling on the shelves, threatening to fall down together with all the random junk in the _Gotei_'s storage room. Ichigo can't help feeling oddly turned on by the instability – it's good to think you and your lover are going at it so hard you're breaking a bloody room down – but Toshiro doesn't seem unaffected either, if the muffled cry he lets out while burying his face into the redhead's neck is any indication.

The desperate twitching of the short boy's arousal against his own belly tells Ichigo all he needs to know seconds before Toshiro comes, his teeth sinking down into the tender flesh of the other's shoulder, hard to bruise. Fighting against his primal instinct – screaming _claim, claim, make him_ _feel it till the last drop, give it all_ – to stay somewhat gentle, the redhead pulls out completely before slamming back in to the hilt. A rush of electricity goes straight to his groin, and Ichigo knows he needs to end it now, before it's too late to retreat –

– but Toshiro feels so tight and hot around him, and the boy is literally mewling into his shoulder for crying out loud… ! – Ichigo comes with a loud groan, shooting his load inside his one-too-many night stand like he never dared do before.

The taller man's knees give away through the aftershocks and they collapse in a tangled mess on the floor. It's dark around them, but Ichigo doesn't need his eyes to tell apart Toshiro's utmost fury: the way he fidgets to pull away from his partner's embrace, rummages for his clothes and finally scrambles on his feet speaks much eloquently for itself. The redhead thinks he should be used to it by now, though he can't help that hideous sense of emptiness creeping through his body at Toshiro's hurry. Sure, the dirty floor of a storage room in a night club is no place for basking in the aftermath, but it fucking hurts to see him go, this time above all others. Ichigo shuts his eyes. Words of love ring in his ears together with the rustling sound of fabric as the silver-haired man puts his clothes back on. Damn, this is all wrong.

Finally Toshiro can feel it, the chilling December air. It's all bottled up inside him, along with Kurosaki's semen. Shivers run down his spine at the mental image. How dared that bloody messed up asshole – ? Toshiro pulls up his zipper. A disgusted scowl plays on his face both at the bothersome feeling of bodily fluids running down his thighs and a very disturbing idea that's just crossed his mind. His birthday's coming up in a week. Ichigo used to complain they were never allowed to spend it together. _Guess that was his twisted way of getting me a present! _The mere thought makes him want to throw up.

There's really nothing to say, so neither speaks. Ichigo watches his lover go out by the same door he went in feeling full of desire and expectations less than an hour ago. The loud beat of the techno – fuck, how the redhead hates this music – invades the narrow room for a split moment, before Toshiro shuts the door behind him. Ichigo is left sprawled on the floor, staring at the sodding door hard enough to make a hole in the wood. His lips arch in a weak grin.

"See ya next last time, love."

* * *

**.**


	2. Teaser

_2 o'clock in the morning, something's on my mind_

_Can't get no rest, keep walkin' around._

_If I pretend that nothin' ever went wrong, _

_I can get to my sleep,_

_I can think that we just carried on._

_

* * *

_

"You cannot possibly be serious."

It's a quarter past two in the morning, his head aches like an army of trolls are having a happy new year party in it, _and_ what's worst Renji just won't stop pacing around the large, elegant living room no matter how pitiful Ichigo tries to sound while asking him. _Not serious._ Yeah, 'cause there's so much to be joking about 'round here. "Think I enjoy feelin' like this?"

The pineapple head freezes on the spot. Ichigo can't help but notice the nervous twitching at the corners of the man's mouth. Well, guess he can't be blamed. Must be hard to deal with him at the moment. "It's – it's just – I don't get it, 'kay? You two were fine, hell, more than fine up until, what?, six hours ago? What the fuck could go wrong in such a short while?"

Ichigo sinks deeper in his leather armchair. "The hell I know. Why, would you just stop doin' that?" Renji obediently quits his maniacal pacing and nearly slumps down on the rug at his feet. "Thanks a lot."

The tattooed man seems to focus intently on the geometric patterns of the carpet. "You called me for a reason, Ichigo." He utters quietly at last, his fingers tangling playfully in the soft fur. "And I wanna help. But you need giving out details, you know, otherwise I'll – "

Ichigo looks down at his own hands, the same hands that had clutched, petted, explored Toshiro's skin less than half a day ago. The irony of it all. "Leave it. I've changed my mind. You can go if you want."

Renji's head shoots up. "What's this s'posed to mean?" The redhead frowns. "We're friends. I'm not dumping you here all by yourself, especially when you're in such a state."

Ichigo's eyebrows arch in bitter amusement. "Dump me here? Take a look around, mate. This house's a fucking manor."

"Yeah, and you hate it."

"Do I really?" The carrot-top smiles sourly. "Am not sure of anything anymore."

Resting his head on his palms, elbows digging in the rough skin of his knees, Renji looks up at the other man with pensive, compassionate eyes. Fuck, not once in the three years they've known each other has he seen Ichigo this bad-off. _Bloody midget's messed him up big time._ "Tell me what happened already?" Renji urges gently yet firmly, not willing to take no as an answer.

What happened. Ichigo sneers to himself.

* * *

_The __windows are fogged with their heavy breathing. Damn seatbelt keeps getting tangled up in the mess that is their joined limbs, but neither men care, as engrossed as they are in their hot foreplay. Ichigo is driven crazy by the insistent jerking of his lover's hips, which keep grinding up none too subtly into his own to urge him on. They both are already half-naked from the waist down (it's too bloody cold to even think of undressing completely), and their hard-ons are brushing deliciously against one another, eliciting low, strained whimpers every now and then. Ichigo is going to take his sweet time, though. He's had the feeling something good is to happen before the night is over, and lord knows he's taking as much as he can out of this unique chance at intimacy. _

_Things with Toshiro have been going amazingly smoothly for the past two months or so. Could it be the white-haired boy has finally forgiven him? Ichigo's allowed himself to raise his hopes. _

_The pace is growing frantic now – Toshiro moans louder with each time the redhead thrusts his tongue into his mouth, and their tented underpants are totally drenched in pre-cum, the thin fabric threatening to tear as they greedily rock together.__ Later Ichigo will blame it on the heat of the moment, but truth is Toshiro looks, smells, feels like pure heaven, and he just can't help himself. _

"_Oi… guess what, Shiro-chan."_

"_Don't call me tha-ahn! Nnngh, Ichigo…" _

"_I think I might be falling just __a wee bit in love with ya."_

_Toshiro goes rigid as a statue. _

"_Well? Not gonna say anything?"_

"… _why bother. It's the booze talking." _

_This is not the reaction Ichigo had hoped for. The 20-year-old's raises on his elbows, distancing himself from the smaller man's body. "Can hold my liquor damn well, n' you know it." __He snaps in resentment. Then he adds what's possibly the worst thing to say at the very worst time with the very worst face on – smiling amusedly. "Is it really that hard to believe you might have grown on me? We've been together for a while now. Thought it was what you wanted too?"_

_Next thing Ichigo knows his right eye's throbbing with blinding, excruciating ache after the vicious punch Toshiro has blo__wn him. His whole face feels like on fire, and he's pretty sure a tooth or two have started dangling dangerously loose at the right side of his mouth. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as seeing the white-haired boy rush out of the car and disappear into the night, though. _

"_Damn it, Toshiro!" _

_No use crying out. With midnight's approaching, fireworks are __burning with coloured flames and sparks in the sky, making for a bright, beautiful display. Ichigo's heart bumps in sync with the loud detonations, skipping many a beat. The air in the car seems suddenly heavy, thick with the smell of arousal and abandon. His breath keeps getting caught in his throat. Fuck, he hadn't had a panic attack in ages! Gasping to take long mouthfuls of oxygen, Ichigo rummages frantically through the dashboard, finally producing a long forsaken inhaler he wraps his lips around gratefully. _

_As the med fills his lungs he watches his own new year's eve party going on undisturbed beyond the now clearing windows. His sore eye twitches painfully, his hands shake, and before he even knows it Ichigo is starting the car, clutching onto the wheel for dear life. _

_

* * *

_

"You wanted me to follow him." Since Renji's is not really a question, the carrot-top doesn't bother answering. "Why though? Even with my persuading skills and all I highly doubt I could make him change his mind."

Ichigo shakes his head slowly, eyes glued to the ground in stubborn rebuffing of contact. "I guess I just wanted to make sure he'd be okay. It's pretty crazy out there tonight." Then, as an afterthought, he lifts his gaze to cast a guilty look at his interlocutor. "Sorry. It's just occurred to me I've ruined your night as well." A sad yet honest smile twists his lips. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't mention it." Renji waves the matter aside, taking to scrutiny his friend's face instead. "How's your eye again?"

"I think I almost managed to blink a moment ago."

The pineapple head can't refrain from grinning at the sour joke. "Well, then things are looking up!"

Ichigo reckons they are.

* * *

.

* * *

**Okay, so before you all furr your brows: I am NOT following a chronological order while writing this story. The reason is I get bored easily when the plot goes on too smothly. However I'll do everything in my power to make the timeline understandable and the temporal connections among the chapters clear, so you shan't be confused. For further clarity, mind the aging and the dates: Toshiro was 23 in the prologue, Ichigo is 20 here; plus, the prologue was set in December (the first fortnight), as was this chapter (new year's eve). I'll have you know Toshiro is two years older than Ichigo in this story, so do your maths and you'll see this chapter was set about a year before the prologue. =D We're going further down in the past with chapter 3. **

**Thanks to everyone who read/fav'd/reviewed _Thrice In Our Lives_, which this story comes from. **

**DISCLAIMER: Tite Kubo owns all things Bleach. Song lyrics at the top belong to MIKA. **


	3. One

… _This is the hardest story_

_that I've ever told… _

_

* * *

_

The day Ichigo and Toshiro meet is also the day Kurosaki witnesses his first post-mortem examination, only to flee the morgue, rush to the nearest restroom and be sick all over the tiles. Luckily the toilets had been mostly desert, with the sole exception of a short white-haired guy who hardly looked like a college student – thus allowed to use that particular bathroom – anyway. Ichigo decided he had no reason in the world to care for his spectator, and he'd been just about to walk out when Toshiro addressed him.

Fate's got its twisted, twisted ways.

* * *

"You okay?"

The redhead stops in front of the sinks to take a look at himself in the large mirror. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Just dandy." Ichigo turns the tap on and lets the tepid water run till it reaches just the right temperature, then cups his palms to drink from his hands. He can see with the corner of his eye the other boy staring, which makes his skin tingle unpleasantly. What, never seen a med student throw up his morning breakfast and possibly a few more previous meals on the bathroom floor as, to add it up to the utter shame of running from his first practical class, he couldn't make it to the toilet?

The stranger's voice is ice cold when he speaks again. "You should clean that mess up or at least call for someone to do it. It's highly inappropriate, not to mention unhygienic, to leave it to dry up."

Chocolate brown eyes lock with – what colour is that again? – ones in the mirror. Ichigo raises an eyebrow. "I was just going to fetch the hall janitor. No need to get your knickers in a twist."

"I would suggest you minded your own knickers, given how they're likely to have gotten dirtied along with the rest of your clothing."

As the midget smirks all too pleased with himself, the carrot-top notices a trail of – eeew – several stains on his gown. _Eeew _to the nth degree.

The kid is not done yet. "As for calling the janitors, you'll have to think again. All the supervisors this side of the building were assigned to the athletics field to help with the sport facilities and all. High jump competition today."

Raising his eyes to the heavens, Ichigo groans loudly. "Not again! Those bastards are always stealing our stuff." He grunts, not quite awake to the rudeness of his analogy. Proceeding to wash his hands and splash water over his face, the orange haired would-be-doctor adds in a huff. "What the hell's up with taking P.E. anyway? Some degree!"

Here's when, oddly enough, the short boy begins slowly unzipping his sweatshirt. Ichigo watches him strip in the mirror, feeling slightly nervous at the unexpected twist. Well, it's not like the midget seems about to jump him or what, but you never know these days... His train of thought is cut off abruptly as a dark blue tank top underneath the white-haired guy's shirt is revealed. Ichigo stares agape at the number sewed on the back of the garment. "You're in the athletics team? Taking part in the competition, or something?"

The stranger's lips crack in a tiny smirk. "Or something."

Upon taking a closer look to the piece of clothing, the redhead frowns. "Hold on. I'm pretty sure that's not our team's uniform." His brow furrows all the more as Ichigo lets his gaze run up and down the white-haired boy's slim form. "And, high jump you said? No way you up to that, yer too short!"

A loud, irritated snort is heard. "If you must know, I'm in the panel." The silver-haired youth slips his sweatshirt back on, not bothering to pull up the zipper. "That crap of yours is not going to clean itself, by the way." He points out in a light, mocking tone, sneaking Ichigo a sly glance. "How about you go find a scrubber and make use of your overflowing energies for something more constructive than spitting bullshit?"

With that the shorty is off, effectively blowing Ichigo's chances at a witty comeback. Left all by himself in the restroom, the carrot-top mutters half-heartedly. "How 'bout you go fuck yourself? Stick's already up yer ass." Except it's not that fun to call somebody names if they're not even there to take offence.

_Jerk_, Ichigo decides, then gives that unfortunate chance encounter no more thought.

* * *

At least for two weeks.

* * *

Ichigo has been unsuccessfully trying to wrap his mind around that bloody Avogadro fucker's law all afternoon when his very much obnoxious, disrespectful roommate deems it fitting to distract him.

" 'kay, that's it, Berry. You so need to get outta this fuckin' room and give real life a shot. Might find out it's not that bad, y'know?"

"Ya mean _you_ need me to get out of this room, Abarai, you self-centred prick."

"Whatever floats yer soddin' boat, Ichigo! Our interests coincide for once. Yeah, I can't stand stay here for a minute longer 'cause, really, watching you study? so bloody depressing I feel like killing myself at the moment, _but_ you know you want to catch up with Rukia and the others, so drop the diligent doc act already and come revise the fundamental notions of fun, friends, fuc – "

"Alright, I get it, I get it! Shut your trap, I'm going change."

It never ceases to amaze Ichigo how a lazy ass like Renji also happens to be one of the most promising graduating engineers of the State. Sure enough the man acts like a downright idiot in his everyday life – although Ichigo must admit he's damn fun to be around. All in all they were pretty lucky to be roomed up together, even more so since they don't have many courses in common.

And, the icing on the cake that's Renji? His friends, whom Ichigo has come to consider as his own.

They're going down the dormitory staircase when the engineering student announces. "Fat chance we're meeting their new flatmate too. He was due to move in last week or something. Rukia told ya anythin' about it?"

Ichigo lets out a snort. "Nope. Been too busy dissecting people and barfing around to entertain human relations these past days. Living humans, at least."

"Tch, serves you right. Fuckin' crazy docs." Renji barks his cheerful laughter as they walk out of the building.

* * *

The first time Ichigo and Toshiro meet there's vomit involved. Which is not that bad, considering the first thing Matsumoto and the others' new flatmate ever says to Ichigo makes the carrot-top's ears flush an embarrassing shade of scarlet.

"Hn. How're your knickers?"

_This_, the med student muses as Toshiro – lying sprawled on the couch in what Ichigo will never be able to consider his friends' den anymore – casts him a thoroughly devious smirk, _is what Murphy's law was 'bout after all._

"Whoa, you so intimate already? Renji, Momo! Berry's queer, I win! You all owe me. Pay up!"

Ichigo has yet to live that day down.

* * *

.

* * *

**Author wants it known she does not share Ichigo's opinion of P.E. students ù_ù, while she does, however, consider mr. Avogadro a bloody fucker (if not him then his goddamn laws for sure -_- ). Speaking of laws, in case you missed the joke, Murphy's principle states "anything that can go wrong, will go wrong". Poor pukey Ichigo. **

**Thanks so much to SillyWQ, BreathexFreely and Kristine93 (new reader, yay!) for reviewing! I promise a... well, _happy ending _to this story *w* for no other reason that I can't write all-the-way-sad fics. It's like an allergy, my skin gets all prickly and pimply when I'm being mean to my characters... ç_ç**

**Next chap coming up in a couple of days (depending on the feedback I get for this one '^^)!**


	4. Two

… _A little bit of love, little bit of love,_

_Little bit of love… _

_

* * *

_

"Nice game."

Toshiro is dripping sweat from every pore. Not exactly what you'd call attractive, if you ask him. _Sure, was _he_ the one all hot and dirty…_ The small boy shakes his head hard to brush off the lewd thoughts. "Tch. Says the soccer expert."

Arms folded across his – _broad, muscular, sculpted_ – chest, Ichigo lets out an admittedly mood-killer grunt. "I was just being nice! You should try too someday."

It's funny, really – _is not_ – how their bickering only makes Toshiro's blood hot every time. "And turn into a sissy like you? How tempting." The athlete snorts to exorcise the wave of self-consciousness that's suddenly swept over him. Heck, the things Ichigo does to his mental stability… He takes in a deep breath. "I need a shower. You don't have to wait up though. Might take ages, everyone's at the stalls right now."

Ichigo just shrugs in that casual, laid-back manner of his Toshiro has fantasized about many a sleepless lonely night. "It's fine. May drop by the kendo dōjō to see what Tatsuki's up to." The redhead brightens at his own suggestion, then adds as an afterthought. "In fact, I'll meet you there. Don't take too long."

Toshiro is still fighting to quell the boiling rage twisting his guts – _bloody girls, always hoverin'_ _around him like he was covered in honey_ (insert naughty mental image here) – when the med student gives his thin frame a thorough scan before breaking into a cunning grin. "Why, no chance. There's little to wash 'bout ya at all."

Oh, seriously, what the fuck? Height-related jokes are known to be a big no-no among their group, what with both Toshiro and Rukia being overly sensitive on the matter. Then again, bloody light bulb head only cares for rules he makes up himself. The soccer player growls menacingly. "Kurosaki…"

"Sorry! My bad." It's just plain unfair how glorious Ichigo looks when he winks, honestly. Toshiro finds his mouth go dry as the carrot-top waves goodbye and sets off, leaving him in desperate need of a shower alright – a freakin' cold one at that.

* * *

_Plick. Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip. Plick. _

_

* * *

_

Six minutes elapse until Toshiro's resolve breaks and the boy reaches down to grasp at his manhood, pumping it with the desperation of the beaten.

'Cause he truly doesn't want this. Doesn't want to be thinking of one among his closest friends like this, with such a, such a sheer unadulterated longing. It's been going on for – what? two, three months now? – and Toshiro's delusional hopes for this lame crush of his passing in time are severely wavering.

Ichigo's image never leaves his mind. At first it's just the redhead's face, all warm eyes and killer smirk, with many close-ups of those tantalizing lips – Toshiro is fairly sure he's pictured that mouth everywhere on his body by now. Then the man's hands come into view: strong yet gentle, firm and precise, doctor hands alright, clenching and stroking him like he's clenching and stroking his aching length under the warm water spray at the moment. Toshiro's mind is running free, his inner eye wrapping around Ichigo's whole form, toned chest and flat abs included – then a glimpse of pert nipples and bare muscular thighs, followed by the tiniest peep at soft red hair between…

_Fuck_, Toshiro curses under his breath as he increases the pace, pulling and tugging at his throbbing erection like his life depends on it. Which might just be the case, since his growing need for the orange-haired youth is slowly yet inexorably killing each and every one of his brain cells – _nnngh_, _fuck_, his right hand is not nearly enough, not even close to the wonders Ichigo's touch would do to relieve the pressure in his lower belly, _but still_, Toshiro's fist runs down his hard cock smoothly thanks to the water, and it does feel quite incredibly…

His balls tighten to the point of ache as a very, very dirty picture of Ichigo on his knees before him fills his mind, and he comes in thick white sprouts, splattering the tiled walls of the shower stall with his guilty pleasure.

Damn, this is sick. To think Ichigo… Ichigo trusts him. Bloody buggerin' hell. Toshiro slumps down on the wet floor not ready to turn off the water just yet. Hopefully the tepid spray can wash away a bit of his self-loathing.

* * *

They spend a quiet, pleasant evening at home after that. With Matsumoto practicing her cooking skills on Rukia and Renji (unwilling guinea pigs – that's what you get for losing a bet to the well-endowed blonde), and Izuru off to revise for a particularly tough literature exam with Momo helping him, Ichigo and Toshiro end up sharing the couch to watch some movie Toshiro doesn't even catch the title of, as busy as he is feeling hot and bothered by his crush's proximity. Every time the redhead shifts their arms or legs would brush, making it impossible for the shorter boy to relax. In spite of being practically curled up in a ball at the opposite edge of the sofa, he's painfully aware of Ichigo's tiniest movement. Therefore it comes as some sort of a shock when the medic student stretches to lie crosswise on the couch, the mop of bright orange hair resting against Toshiro's thigh.

The soccer player stiffens, all of his muscles contracting at the same time. "What are you doing?"

Mortifyingly enough, Ichigo casts him a clueless, disbelieving glance. "You uncomfortable? I needed to stretch my legs, they were goin' limp over there." The boy's brow furrows as he looks up. "Am not hurtin' ya, am I?"

Toshiro shrugs no and the other turns his focus back on the TV screen, blissfully oblivious to the low sigh of exasperation coming from his human seat. Great. Just great. To have Ichigo's head mere inches away from his groin but not there quite the way he'd… Toshiro groans to himself, feeling worse a human being by the minute.

They're friends, alright? Good friends, best friends as far as the white-haired boy's concerned. Ichigo is clever and fun, not as loud as Renji nor as meek as Izuru, and after the initial difficulties he and Toshiro have clicked perfectly. Also, they both know how it feels like to grow up in no ordinary family – Ichigo's mother died when he was a child, whereas Toshiro never met his parents and was raised by his and Momo's granny – which somehow has brought them closer to each other than Matsumoto and the others could possibly understand. But. _This._ Is. It. Ichigo's loyal and caring, but he only acts as any good friend should, with no malice or ulterior motives. His uninterested displays of affection (picking Toshiro up at the soccer field after a game being a case in point) are what makes the white-haired young man feel the worst about his inappropriate fancying.

Still, _damn_, does it feel good to have Ichigo rest like that against him. So tempting, too: Toshiro's hands are all but shaking with desire to tangle up in those bright orange locks. Huffing, the boy stops seconds before yielding. There are times he actually needs to remind himself how all of the ease and the naturalness of their relationship would expire if he ever were to voice his feelings aloud.

"Everyone, eyes to the lovebirds! Awwww, seriously, aren't they just cute?"

"Hold your tongue, Rangiku, it's my cousin you're talking about!"

"Are you saying he doesn't look adorable right now?"

"Of course he does, but I'm the only one allowed to call him cute!"

"Well you tell Berry that, before he comes to his senses _and_ finally onto our taichou…"

"No way! Hands where I can see them, Ichigo!"

The soccer team captain groans in utter humiliation while the redhead in his lap doesn't even budge, obviously accustomed to as well as unaffected by the teasing. Blissful indifference, Toshiro muses, then curses his own pallid complexion for once more revealing his mortification. Not that Ichigo ever notices, anyway.

… _damn it all to hell. _

_

* * *

_

.

_

* * *

_

***w* Thanks to ever****yone who reviewed, fav'd, sent me messages about this story! I was SO not expecting such enthusiastic feedback! **

**To cryptonomicon: your review made ****me**** undeniably happy! Thanks for your kind words, though I cannot for the life of me share your generous view of my so-very-poor vocabulary '^^ **

**To SillyWQ: glad you think timewarp sounds like a good idea. I'm afraid I couldn't write longfics any other way!**

**To Kristine93: you need not worrying, I can't imagine writing an angsty piece with no happy ending (one-shots apparently being the exception to the rule)! =3**

**Last but not least, to sblack13, zx14ninja, BreathexFreely (I love it that you're reading this story too! *-*) and shikaboo: thank you all from the bottom of my IchiHitu heart! **

**Feel free to ask for elucidation about the timeline if I'm not being clear! Wouldn't want you to wear yourselves out because of my lazy writer issues! ****Next chapter coming up soon. =) Now, wanna make me happy? I'm sure you all guess how to *w*.**


	5. Three

… _I feel as if I'm wasted,_

_A__nd I'm wasting every day…_

_

* * *

_

"That's it, fellas. I quit."

While everyone at the table gasps, visibly taken aback by the announcement, Ichigo just rolls his eyes. He had read the signs correctly then.

"Are you kidding, spiky head? You love your job!"

"Technically it's not my job yet…"

"No shit, Renji! Why on earth would you drop engineering?"

"Got something else on my mind."

"Like what? Fixing your hair every two weeks?"

"Dudes." Ichigo cuts in, much to his roommate's relief. "Give the man a break, will ya?"

Being none too fond of the patronizing tone, Rukia punches the carrot-top on his arm. "What side are you on? Renji is gonna screw up his life and you say we should just sit back and watch?"

"Nobody's side. No bloody sides. Geez, how's it any of your business anyway?" Ichigo grunts in frustration. His eyes meet Toshiro's above their hot cups of coffee, seeking comprehension. The blank stare he gets back, though, unnerves him all the more. "The whole soddin' world is going crazy these days. Remember when I said my old man had news for us? Well, he spat it yesterday and, guess what?"

"He's brought a stray puppy home."

"He's getting married again."

"He's finally shaved."

"You didn't really have to guess, y'know." Ichigo snorts – and doesn't fail to notice Toshiro biting back a chuckle at his misfortunes. "None of that though. Goat Face has taken over Urahara-san's pub…"

"That weirdo's club? It's such a dive!"

"… and given up the clinic for the time being. We'll be closed indefinitely. Till, I guess, he comes back to his senses." The redhead pulls a disgruntled face. "Assuming that's even an option."

His teal eyes glassy due to, Ichigo figures, the hot steam rising from the cup in his hands, Toshiro cocks his head to the side and speaks up for the first time. "Did you ask him why has he done what he's done?"

The medic student takes a long sip from his own cup before sighing. "You don't know dad. He can't for the life of him give a straight or serious answer to anything." The now empty mug is lowered on the table with a soft _thud._ "All explanation we got from him is he thinks he's good enough at dealing with people to do this, and fancies a change in his life." Ichigo grumbles, all the while playing with the rim of his napkin. "He also added something about this being a nice career choice for me. Like I'm taking medicine to run a bar."

Toshiro casts him a look the redhead never gets the chance to decipher, seeing as Matsumoto chooses that moment to pull him into a terrifyingly tight one-arm hug. "Don't get too worked up over this, Berry! It's probably just a passing midlife crisis."

"You sure would know, ne, Matsumoto baa-sama?"

"How smart to draw attention back on you, Renji! Spit it now: what was that something else you've got on your mind again?"

Ichigo's roommate sputters, clearly caught off guard. "You'll laugh at me." Comes as a low whine, then the pineapple head lets out in one breath. "I'm gonna try and join the police."

Rukia and Matsumoto snap in unison above the collective surprise. "Police? Like nii-san!"

"A cop? Seriously, Renji? I've seen you committing more crimes than news bulletins care to report every day!"

The tattooed man's cheeks grow roughly the same colour as his bright hair. "Don't make it sound so bad, it was just – just a li'l shoplifting every now and then, when – and I was a kid!" Renji ends in a sulky moan. "Am not a murderer or anything."

Toshiro's left eyebrow shoots up at that (an unmistakable sign, as Ichigo has come to learn, the white-haired boy's about to give proof of his infamous sardonic wit). "Too bad. That would fit your application form nicely." (Indeed. The carrot-top smirks to himself.)

Whining, Renji takes to rock back and forth on his chair, looking every bit as a spoiled child. "Anyone, care to explain why we keep the crabby midget around?"

"He's monthly renting our company?" Matsumoto helpfully suggests, gaining Toshiro's fierce glare.

"Talk about getting more than you bargained for."

"Hey, guys!" Momo chirps out of the blue, then points unashamedly at the entrance of the cafeteria. "Look, over there! Isn't that…?"

"Izuru-chan with that creepy crush of his?" Renji wolf-whistles, but goes unheard by the blonde. "Gods, it's times like this I'd rather be blind."

"That can be arranged easily enough, what with all the physical activity you pull your right hand thr – "

"Don't you dare finish the sentence, ya dirty-minded woman!"

"Or else? !"

As Renji and Matsumoto's bitching carries on in the background, Rukia addresses the other boys at the table, a taut scowl on her face. "Man, that Ichimaru guy gives me the creeps."

Toshiro's eyes drift from the dark-haired girl to the stranger in question. Looking increasingly lost by the second, the athlete eventually asks. "What are you talking about?"

"Ya don't know?" Ichigo takes it upon himself to fill his friend in on the new bit of info. "Izuru has got it bad for that silver-haired weirdo. Why, no offence." (Toshiro brushes the other's slip aside.) "I think he's some sort of liberal-arts teacher."

Rukia mutters something that sounds quite like: "Bit too liberal if you ask me."

"A teacher?" The college soccer team player frowns. Ichigo can't help but notice how oddly interested he looks. _Weird._ Toshiro was never one for gossip. "How old is he?"

Huffing, Momo supplies. "Ichimaru is actually an assistant, and he's not that old. You're being pretty insensitive, guys."

"Well, what the hell? I didn't even know Izuru swung that way!" Momentarily done with his personal fights (Ichigo's pretty sure he's lost, too), Renji quickly catches the thread of the conversation. "Guess that explains why you girls were willing to share an apartment with him though."

General groaning. Momo snorts. "Like I said, insensitive."

"Toshiro's a man too, you know." Ichigo feels like it's his duty to point out, hence gaining a grateful half-smile from the shorter youth. (He really doesn't get why Renji complains so much about being incompatible with "the midget", as he calls him. Ichigo has always found Toshiro very easy to both read and handle.)

"Tch, midget here hardly counts as a teen. Bet he hasn't even reached puberty yet."

Abarai is the one jerk in their group who has yet to give up teasing Toshiro about his height. And it's not like he ever gets the upper hand in a verbal fight, either. "At least my body's granted me a brilliant career. All your body's getting you is a brush off from the police the moment you'll turn in your application." The soccer star states matter-of-factly, the angelic smile tugging at his lips quickly turning into a self-satisfied smirk. "You didn't think of what you were going to do about the tattoos, did you?"

Ichigo never knew it could take a tanned man like Renji so little to pale completely. "Shit! You reckon that's gonna be a problem?"

Putting on his best casual façade, Toshiro shrugs. "What would I know? I'm just a kid."

"Rukia! You'll have to ask your bro for a good word." There's an edge of pure desperation to the redhead's voice now. "If the police chief can't have me let in then I'll, I'll – I'd better find some gloomy cave to rot in before I end my days as a good-for-nothing sorry excuse for a former engineer!"

As his roommate's ranting goes on and up in volume, punctuated every so often by Rukia's protests ("_I_ won't have to do anything! You're all alone in this, spiky head!"), Ichigo stretches across the round table to murmur directly in Toshiro's ear. "You know they're not really that strict 'bout tattoos around here, right?" The naughty smirk he gets in response makes him smile heartily. "Wicked thing." He calls out affectionately – Toshiro all but blushes. _Heck_, the boy's really not used to appreciation. It's kind of endearing, honestly. "Oi, mind if I walk back with you?" Ichigo prompts as something suddenly occurs to him. "I promised Inoue I'd pay her a visit before she's off on that Erasmus programme she's been accepted to."

"When's she due to leave?"

"In a fortnight at the latest. I keep getting caught up and couldn't find time to drop by before."

For the briefest of moments, Toshiro's eyes seem to shine unusually bright. His voice, too, takes on a velvety quality as he speaks. "Greet her for me. Shall we set off then?"

Nodding, Ichigo waves everyone goodbye an stands up, the white-haired athlete following soon after. He doesn't miss the slight bounce – _bounce_, for heaven's sake! – to Toshiro's pace, but decides against questioning him. It's not everyday his friend looks so at ease and Ichigo can only be glad about it.

* * *

"Say, Ichigo…"

"Hn?"

"When has Kira come out to you guys?"

The redhead buries his hands deeper in his pockets. They're crossing the park heading toward Inoue's apartment, and everything surrounding them – from the full-blown sakura trees to the cheerful yells of the children playing on the swings – feels so beautifully in place Ichigo can't help wanting to slow down his pace so that their peaceful strolling may not end anytime soon. "Huh… coming to think of it, he hasn't. Not, y'know, officially. I guess the girls figured it out since they live together and all. Renji didn't know either."

Toshiro doesn't look pleased at the comparison. "I live there too, you know."

The medic student shrugs, too engrossed in studying the flying of the birds above their heads to focus on chitchat. "Guess your gaydar just sucks then."

They walk in comfortable silence for a while. Ichigo feels so at peace with himself he barely registers Toshiro's words when the boy breaks the quiet. "What do you think about it?"

"About what?"

The shorter youth snarls in aggravation. "Is it that hard to follow me? Kira. What do you think of Kira's… confession?"

"Confession?" Ichigo shoots his friend an amused sideways glance. "He's not killed anyone, you know."

"Don't be a git." Toshiro scolds him, then draws in a deep breath. "The fact that he is… I mean… does it not bother you?"

Ichigo notices the other has visibly slowed down too. Now they're practically promenading along the paths lined up with trees. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No." Toshiro's answer is hasty, but his voice takes on a timid tone as he adds. "Yet it's… strange, isn't it?"

"Only if you feel strange about it." The redhead lets a tiny smile play on his lips. "I just hope Izuru's better now. Poor guy seemed on the verge of a mental breakdown these past weeks."

"How do you reckon it feels like? To be… that way, I mean."

Ichigo senses something inside soften almost to the point of melting. This is one of those disarming moments he feels so close to Toshiro it's like the boy's underneath his very skin. It'd be so easy to misunderstand him now, take the shorter guy's shyness for haughtiness, but Ichigo knows better – he always knows best when it comes to Toshiro, and it fills him with such pride he can't even begin to put in words. Struggling to rouse from his reverie and get back on track, the carrot-top says in a casual tone. "I'm not even sure he's actually gay, you know?" When Toshiro looks back at him dumbfounded, Ichigo elaborates. "People our age fool around all the time. It's called experimenting and growin' up. There's nothing wrong about it so long as no one gets hurt."

The soccer team captain remains silent for a long time after that.

* * *

**.**

**

* * *

**

**As you might have figured, this was set after chapter 3, but Ichigo is being obtusely oblivious to Toshiro's crushing over him. Poor taichou. Thanks to everyone who read and fav'd this story so far, even more so...**

**To cryptonomicon: I think I'll just say I love you this time. Any objection? ^^**

**To Kristine93: thanks so much. You know I usually dislike stories in present tense too? This has just sort of turned out this way without me noticing xD.**

**To sblack13: thank you so, SO much for pointing out the one-sidediness. It is undoubtedly actual. Better set things straight now: at this point in the plot Ichigo has got absolutely no romantic feelings whatsoever toward Toshiro. He's NOT just being a tease or playing hard to get - geez, that'd be so out of character!**

**To BreathexFreely: yay for the cuteness! Let's squeeze 'em tight alright together! *w***

**To zx14ninja: if you're happy, then I'm happy! Simple as that! *_*Thank you! *sing song***

**To SilyWQ: (quoting) "too bad I already know where this is heading" - do you now? *michievous grin* This is not just a prequel to Lust Time, y'know. I'm planning to go way over that and finally give these boys a closure. *roll eyes* Thanks for the constant support, it means to me more than words can say!**

**See ya all next update! Ye gonna be there, right? Right? =D **


	6. Four

… _Wake up in the morning,_

_Stumble on my life._

_Can't get no love without sacrifice… _

_

* * *

_

They're sitting across from each other in the cosy living room. Ichigo is drumming his fingers on the table, making a tip-tap noise that's slowly driving Toshiro insane. Mental demolition fighting techniques should be considered as cheating, he muses.

"You know I don't like ya anyway, right?"

"The hell I care. Your turn."

"Hmph. Lemme think in peace."

"I wouldn't dream to interfere with a miracle."

The redhead glares at him from the opposite side of the chessboard. Then he makes his move – foolishly, foolishly! Toshiro can't help the tiny smirk that rises on his lips. Noticing his opponent's mischievous glance Ichigo frowns in suspicion, but it's too late to fix his faux-pas: the soccer team captain moves a pawn and it's the final straw.

"Checkmate. Again." Toshiro arches a mocking eyebrow. "What's with that frown, Kurosaki? Li'l doc cannot lose?" He teases, all the while trying to keep a goofy grin off his face. Stupid ginger had it coming. You must be feeling either kind of suicidal or extremely conceited to try and challenge a whiz kid at logic games, for crying out loud. "You didn't really believe you stood a chance against me, right?"

Ichigo looks undoubtedly ready to murder. He never gets to voice his thoughts aloud, though, for Momo passes them by while crossing the room and sees fit to intrude. "Cheer up, Ichigo. No one beats Shiro-chan at a game of chess. Well, apart from gran – " The girl trails off abruptly at her cousin's scariest glance. " 'm going!" She rushes past the door and disappears.

Still fuming, Toshiro watches her leave, a glint of edginess in his teal eyes. (Okay, their granny, so what? The old woman taught him the very rules of the game, it's just normal she gets to outwit him _on occasion._ And Kurosaki needn't know, by the way.) Drifting his gaze back to the carrot-top, he's surprised to find him grinning like an idiot. "… what?"

"No one beats ya, huh?" God forbid, Ichgo looks positively intrigued. "Then it's on. We've got a dare."

Toshiro's brow knits. Hold the fuck on. "_We_ don't have nothing."

"Cool down, Shiro-chan. It's all in good fun." The redhead leans forth across the chessboard, smiling in a way that sends shivers down the athlete's spine. "How do you like a challenge?"

"How would you make a challenge?" Toshiro is quick to retort, albeit somehow unconvinced. To smirk like that after such a humiliating defeat… Kurosaki really is shameless.

"Try me."

Sure enough, that seals it.

* * *

New Year's Eve. A panting, stumbling figure strolls down the dark and smoky alleys that are currently buried in all kinds of party garbage, unexploded bangers included. The night air is sharp and thick. Up in the sky, above the hundreds of heads amongst the speechless crowd, fireworks are wrestling the wind to show off against the stubborn rolling of clouds. Not an easy night for many – Toshiro finds himself rejoicing in the desperate struggle of Nature.

He's got no idea what brought that particular memory to his mind just now, now that he's nearing the point of hypothermia in the deep, gloomy pit that is the last night of the year, but he can't shake off the biting feeling it carries behind, like a lining of regret.

_Try me._

Gods, it was so clear from the start, yet it's taken Toshiro three years to figure out they would not be going for a game of chess after all. _Those_ he always won.

A particularly loud detonation has the white-haired man nearly jump out of his skin. Raising his head to glance at the brightly coloured sky he spots the familiar silhouette of his apartment block, standing out as a sinister shadow against the cheerfully lit night. A shaky smile stretches his lips. Funny how home can look so close and still feel so far.

Treading heavily on his wobbly legs, Toshiro resumes walking, arms reaching out blindly to steady himself. That game of chess won't stop haunting him, gnawing at the back of his mind. Of course, that had been before he developed his not quite sane obsession with Ichigo, and _long_ before the redhead even took notice of his feelings.

Those goddamn feelings. Toshiro inwardly snorts. He recalls bloody well how it all began.

* * *

_Thump._ A loud one. Skin colliding with skin, a taut fist with a sharp jaw.

"The fuck, Toshiro? ! Whadda hell was that for? !"

"What the hell d'you think? You shoulda stayed the fuck outta this!"

"You punched me! I save your sorry ass and you punch me!"

"Nobody – you didn't save my – just mind your own goddarn business!"

"Well sure as hell I am! Next time you get beaten to a pulp I'm gonna stay back and enjoy the soddin' show!"

Both are shouting so vehemently they're running out of breath. Still shaking from the shock, Toshiro crouches down, his palms on his knees, in an effort to collect his wits. The moment he glances down, though, a wave of nausea comes over him: there's blood on his knuckles from the blow he struck Ichigo, adding up to a long trail of vermillion running down the front of his white shirt from the deep cut on his lower lip – all his attackers could get away with before mister Fantastic came to the rescue. The mere thought sparks a surge of boiling rage through Toshiro's body. _Kurosaki, motherfucking git. _The footballer's heart can't seem to stop its racing. It feels like nothing he's ever experienced before.

Hell, he can't recall a time he'd been so helplessly, shitless scared in his entire life.

And it's all the redhead's freaking fault. Because then, in the midst of everything, as two very much taller-than-Toshiro sportsmen set about beating the fuck out of him, he had not been worried for himself. But Ichigo had to pop out of the blue and play the hero… _then_, just then did that hideous feeling of utter dread creep over him. Toshiro had absolutely no idea one could feel so intensely about another human being. It's frightening for lack of a better word.

"Oi. You okay?" The medic student asks in concern, his head cocked to the side.

Only then Toshiro realizes he's still bent over as though he's considering passing out on his rescuer. Grunting, he straightens up. "Yeah, thanks to you." His words are pure poison.

They stand in silence for several moments, neither quite resolving to take leave, before Ichigo comes up with a cheerful: "So, any idea why those thugs picked up on you?"

Toshiro rolls his eyes. _Dumbarse._ "Those were not thugs. Did you not look at them?"

"Sorry. Being kinda busy getting them off of ya." The carrot-top's eyebrows rise in disdain.

"They were athletes, from your college high jump team in fact." The white-haired boy huffs. "Remember that contest I was called to adjudicate on?" Ichigo nods, awaiting. "Let's just say the weren't very happy with my verdict."

"Assholes." The med student mutters, then a frown creases his brow. "Now that you mention it, how come you were in the panel for a high jump competition when your sport is soccer?"

Oh, seriously, brilliant! To think Toshiro spent the better part of two hours telling his new flatmates and friends the tale of his worldwide renown awesomeness…! "You didn't listen to a single word that came out of my mouth when I told you guys why I was called a prodigy back in high school, did you?" He snaps, or better yet tries to. As a matter of fact he only manages through half his retort before he starts choking on the blood in his mouth and throat. Cough, curse, cough. Damn, that sodding hook to his chin hadn't seemed to score at first. Curse, cough, curse.

"That looks pretty nasty, _prodigy._" Ichigo says in a mocking tone, but his eyes give off actual concern. "Lemme have a glance." He steps to approach the shorter boy, who promptly withdraws. The carrot-top snorts. "What? I'm the closest to a doctor you're getting around here at the moment, which is not bad considering you're bleeding your soul out on the ground."

Toshiro can't tell whether it's the condescending tone or the unexpectedly gentle brush of Ichigo's thumb against his tormented lips that does the trick, but he finds himself promptly, obediently yielding to the soothing touch. As Ichigo lets his brown eyes scan him clinically, however, the athlete squirms. This is getting more than a little uncomfortable.

It feels like ages until the orange-haired student finally lets go of his chin and passes judgement. "My room at the campus is closer than your place. Come with me, I'll figure something to seal the cut. A small injure like that would not be much of a problem were it anywhere else on your body, but lips are a high blood-vessels concentration spot." Ichigo explains, his voice taking on an irritatingly didactic tinge – _please_, it's not like you need a degree in medicine to tell that much! Toshiro wants to grunt his scorn aloud, but the moment he goes to open his mouth the redhead slips _a fucking_ _finger_ in it. "Is the inside alright? Open up, let me see – "

Toshiro pulls back abruptly, barely resisting the urge to bite hard down on the invading digit. "Get those dirty hands off me! We're not doing this in the middle of the road! And I don't need your help anyway, you've…"

A loud, very impolite sigh interrupts him. "Such a pain in the ass." Ichigo's shoulder brushes against his templ – cheekbo – ea – brushes _against him_ as the ginger-head passes him by, leading the way. So stubborn! Stubborn and obtuse, Toshiro mentally inveighs. "Hurry up, I've got class in an hour or so. Don't wanna waste more time than necessary over ya, brat."

"… how dare you call me – !"

Ichigo glares upon his shoulder. "You sure are acting like one. Only brats get bullied and keep it from their moms 'cause they're too ashamed to show signs of weakness." The piercing glance turns into a cunning grin. Toshiro feels his ears grow inexplicably hot.

"I didn't get bullied." The soccer team captain complains under his breath, then sets off to keep up with Ichigo's long strides. When they're side by side he looks up, his lips stretched into a sly smirk to match the redhead's. "Shall I call you mom from now on?"

Ichigo's reaction is nothing like the outburst of annoyance Toshiro had anticipated. "If you wish." The carrot-top concedes. His eyes look softer than ever before, and the white-haired prodigy squirms uncomfortably. _What the – ?_

_

* * *

_

The first thing Toshiro notices about Ichigo's room is how overall tidy it looks, despite its occupants' – mostly Abarai's, to be fair – personality disorders. He says this much as he props down on one of the twin beds, eliciting a small, self-satisfied smile from the med student. "Gonna take it as a compliment, though I'm pretty sure you didn't mean it to sound like one!"

Toshiro huffs, somehow irritated by how little credit Ichigo gives him. Stupid fuck. "Is just standing there your idea of medical care? Get a move on, thought you said you got things to do as well."

The taller boy rolls his eyes, but fetches his first aid kit from a cupboard nonetheless. "Ya really are a charmer, y'know?" He mutters, and without bothering to wait for an answer sits across from his guest on the bed.

Toshiro stares begrudgingly as Ichigo goes through his equipment. Eventually he gets too bored to hold it. "Pick the sodding white vial to disinfect, first, then you either put on some bandages or stick to a band-aid, whatever you want. Just get on with it."

Ichigo drops his hands down, a disbelieving look on his scowling face. "Do not go all bossy on me, Shiro-chan! Heck, how d'you even know what to – ?"

Toshiro cuts him off abruptly. "Sports medicine." The footballer wrinkles his nose. "You really have no idea what my grades were back in – "

"High school, yeah, yeah, whateva ye say." Ichigo dismisses with a wave of his hand, then gets back to rummage through his medicine box. It sounds almost like he's talking to himself when he grumbles: "You self-assured prick. Must have been _so_ popular among yer fellows! Bet they absolutely loved how you went on about your holier-than-thou crap all the time."

This strikes a nerve. Toshiro finds himself unconsciously clenching his fists on the bedspread. Of course his classmates had been none too fond of him, but it wasn't his fault. Hell, it's not like he chose to be a genius! And he never meant to flaunt it anyway. Tried not to, at least. Not too much. Damn, it was his teachers – always treating him like he was a fine piece of china, too precious to be even looked at. No freakin' wonder his classmates were too afraid to approach him. _Well, there was_ _Kusaka…_ Toshiro stiffens. He doesn't feel like going over that right now – nor ever. "Less talking, more mending." He eventually barks, albeit half-heartedly.

Ichigo must notice, too, for his features relax in a more sympathetic expression. "You're lucky to have Momo and the others. They're good guys."

"Mmph." The white-haired boy says non-committally as Ichigo finally concentrates on tending to his wound. The stinging of the disinfectant against his split lip has Toshiro shifting in distress, but the redhead's touch is soft and gentle, soothing even. Wait, _soothing_? _Second time I think like this_ _about_ _him today._ _Must be the aftershock._ As sure is aftershock what subsequently possesses him to murmur, in some sort of dazed state he would later reply in his mind with horror: "You've got nice hands."

The carrot-top's movements actually still for a second. "Ehr… thanks?"

Shit. Bugger! Need to change the topic, need to divert Ichigo's focus right away, right, right now! "How did you decide you were going to become a doctor?" Toshiro practically blurts out, only half-aware of what's coming out of his mouth. "Was it because your father's a medic too?"

To his utmost relief, Ichigo smiles somewhat amusedly. "Everyone automatically assumes that's the reason. I don't blame you for doin' the same."

Being compared to everybody else is not something Toshiro was ever used to. So it's mostly out of the urge to differ that he suggests: "Has it do to with… your mother instead?" Except the glint of sadness in Ichigo's eyes makes him want to stuff a foot in his mouth soon after. _Note to self:_ _great minds can be total assholes._ "S-Sorry. Not my place to ask."

Oddly enough, Kuroaki doesn't look offended. "And this usually is their second guess." The youth sighs and shakes his head, a merry little smile twisting his lips. "Listen," he starts off slowly, catching all of his friend's attention, "mom was a good woman. A kind person. To be a good boy – that's all she ever asked of me. Well, I suppose it was just a way of saying, you know, like keep quiet or don't bother the adults or be nice to your teachers. But I really wanted to be good." Ichigo smiles that tiny, tender smile of his right in Toshiro's face, which promptly flushes beet red. "Doctors are not necessarily good people, I know that much. So I'm working to become more than a decent medic – I want to try and be a kind man. I want to be nice toward people, help them, support 'em, give them hope and, y'know, all that. Just like mom did."

Toshiro is still struggling to grasp the other's words when Ichigo pulls back and stands up. "There you go, all fixed. Ya'll need to take that shirt of yours to the laundrette, though. Blood stains are hell to remove." After placing the medicine box back on the cupboard the ginger-head turns, only to be faced with a frowning Toshiro. "What?"

"No one's going to thank you, you know. If you're nice to people. No one's gonna thank you."

Chocolate brown eyes hold an ice cold teal gaze as Ichigo wordlessly ponders his answer. Which leaves Toshiro utterly dumbstruck at last. "So what? They don't have to like me. _I_'ll like 'em instead." Then Ichigo moves toward his writing desk and starts fumbling with the piles of papers on it, making a blatant effort to look occupied. "Now piss off, I'm busy. Be sure to change the bandage first thing in the morning, and let me know it if the bleeding hasn't stopped – we might have to stitch the cut up then." He obstinately keeps his back turned, which has Toshiro wondering about his face.

Raising to his feet with as little noise as humanly possible, the silver-haired athlete briefly considers heading out at once, no greetings bullshit to bother with and, and whatnot. But before he even knows it Toshiro's mouth has decided for him. "Kurosaki?"

The redhead turns to face him, albeit reluctantly. And it's all Toshiro can do to tell himself he's just doing it to stand out, rise above the crowd, 'cause if no one's going to, to show gratitude, then sure as hell he is, 'cause this is what whiz kids do, right?, they stand out, Kusaka used to say so, they were good friends, what happened?, what happened? – but honestly it's all about the way Ichigo looks now, so open and warm and human and close. It takes Toshiro's breath away. "Thanks."

Which, ça va sans dire, already means _I like you._

* * *

.

* * *

**Just in case the timeline got confusing midway: the bit starting with "New Year's Eve" takes place the very same night of the Teaser. Other fragments are all Toshiro's flashbacks.**

**I don't have time to thank all of you properly right now but let it be known that of course I read and LOVE every single review I get! *-* You are what keeps me going as an author, so do thank yourselves for anything you might find good abouth my works - as for the blame, I take that all upon me! Hope I never screw up too badly, but if I do or did in this chapter, PLEASE, do not hesitate to tell me. **

**Thank you all again! Next chap coming up by the end of the week. ^^**


	7. Five

… _Little bit of…_

_

* * *

_

There is, Ichigo decides one fine January morning, something undoubtedly off about the way Toshiro has been acting as of late. Last night being but the tip of an iceberg the redhead's more than determined to disclose in its entirety.

* * *

_December 3__rd_

They're lying flat on their bellies in Ichigo's room, two sudoku magazines spread out on the bed between them. Both boys are scribbling relentlessly to fill up the empty squares, their brains working on the same simple sequences of numbers over and over, almost hard enough to make noise. So far Toshiro is winning, but the med student knows better than to give up hopes – if for no other reason than the afterward teasing would be a hell lot worse should he retire instead of, as Toshiro calls it, losing honourably. _Stay focused_, Ichigo reminds himself. _Just stay focused and ignore how bloody fast his pen is writing. Numbers always liked you. You like them back. If you stay focused, everything… – _

Renji's sudden cry of ecstasy disrupts his hard mental training, hence all of his chances to get the upper hand, in the blink of an eye. "HA, I DID IT! I _knew_ I would! Berry, midget, say hello to the new champion of public order in town!" The pineapple head leaps up and stares at his mates expectantly, pointing at himself with his thumbs.

Ichigo sneaks him but a sidelong glance. The idiot's practically glowing.

"Page fourteen done with. How many to go before you finally admit to your inferiority, Kurosaki?"

"Bite me, snowy-head! I just got distracted."

"There's only so much you can blame on others without coming across as a pathetic brat, you know."

"Tch, you'd sure know all 'bout pathetic brats, wouldn't ya?"

"GUYS!" Renji reaches most obviously his breaking point. "Hello? Earth to motherfuckers? Can you hear me?" When neither of his friends bother to acknowledge him, the former engineer props back down on his seat, huffing ever so irritably. "Oh, fuck off, seriously. Who the hell cares anyway? I got Byakuya to show me his support!"

Ichigo and Toshiro exchange a knowing glance, wordlessly agreeing to call it quits – or at least switch to a different kind of psychological torture. "Is it _Byakuya_ now?" The latter inquires, an eyebrow shooting up in mock bewilderment.

The carrot-top wastes little time putting the boot in. "Exactly how's he being supportive, Renji? Up against the wall or on all fours?"

Renji barely raises his middle finger, refusing to avert his gaze from the laptop screen. "Like you're one to tease, ya fucker! Has Inoue been able to walk again after your last visit?" No sooner have the words been let out of his mouth than a loud _ping!_ resounds. Renji leans out to take a closer look at the monitor. "Oh, guess what? She's just sent you an e-mail."

Ichigo finds himself going rigid at the mere mention of the female pronoun. "Mind your sodding business. And that was totally uncalled for, y'know."

Here's when the med student notices the faint yet audible scraping of Toshiro's pen against the sheet has quieted down. Taken aback as well as cautiously triumphant – _might be my chance to_ _overturn the situation_ – he drifts his gaze to stare at the white-haired boy, whose brow is currently knitted in concentration. Either he's taking that little sudoku challenge of theirs more seriously than he should, or…

"Ye mean she was not calling out for you while you two were going at it? I guess hard means no good, then." Renji grins and proceeds to check his roommate's mailbox regardless. "Now, let's see how's she doing all by herself in Europe… I still think you shoulda gone with her, y'know? What kind of sucker leaves his girlfriend to travel overseas all alone?"

_This_ time Ichigo hears it clearly, the slight hitch in Toshiro's breath. Sure the boy barely lifts his gaze from the magazine before him, but his cool act is not enough to cover up for the bitterness in his voice as he ventures: "Girlfriend?"

"She's not – Inoue's not – don't you fucking dare go through my mail like that! Oi, Renji!"

"No need to get yer panties in a wad, she just says she misses you and that big, hard, hot rod of yours – " A disgracefully unmanly yelp slips past Renji's lips as a well-aimed, surprisingly sharp pen hits him on the forehead. "Ouch! The hell, mate? !"

Toshiro's tone is cold and collected, clashing curiously with the growing agitation Ichigo feels fluttering in his stomach. "You slept with Inoue?"

The carrot-top shifts to sit up cross-legged on the bed. "Jus'… once or twice, before she left. Doesn't make us a couple or anything."

From his conveniently neutral-zone-placed position at the desk, Renji pipes up. "Did you make sure she knew that much? The girl seems pretty attached. Or, well, whipped."

"For the fucking last time, Renji, butt outta my stuff." Ichigo growls, all the while looking around for something heavier than a pen to toss his roommate's way. "And who the hell d'you take me for? I'd never hurt Inoue like that." His tone changes from venomous to sheepish in a trice as the pressure of teal blue eyes watching him intently becomes increasingly harder to bear. _Damn, what's_ _he staring at?_ "She said she was fine with staying just friends."

"Friends with benefits, more like." The police newbie somehow manages to snort and beam at the same time. "Well, cheers mate! You've found yourself quite a nice, dare I say?, notch for that crammed bedpost of yours!"

Ichigo lashes out at his friend to exorcise the humiliating sensation of scorching heat to his cheeks. "You're a pig. No wonder Rukia dumped your sorry ass on your second date."

"You swore you'd never bring this up again! You _swore_, Berry!"

"Yeah, well, never trust a redhead's discretion!"

Renji is too wrapped up in their little tiff to notice Toshiro excusing himself and dashing out of the room, only to walk back in soon after with a straight façade draped over his stern features.

Ichigo, however, is not.

* * *

_December 11__th_

It's a Saturday night and they've all agreed to go watch a movie, albeit what movie to choose has been a pregnant topic to argue endlessly over. Girls eventually win, meaning they're all going for some horror film both Izuru and Renji will be having nightmares about for god knows how many weeks.

So far, Ichigo has been enjoying himself – always fun to have one more reason to make his roommate's life a living hell, and the movie's not bad either. He's bringing a handful of pop-corns to his mouth, a pleased grin plastered over his face (Renji's bitchy cry _"I don't get it! Why would_ _we actually want to scare oursel – NRUAGH! Bloody fuck, where'd _that_ come from?"_ sounds positively delightful to his ears) when a light pressure on his right thigh startles him.

The carrot-top casts Toshiro a quick look. The silver-haired shorty is sitting next to him with a most serene, bordering on bored-outta-my-skull expression, seemingly unaware of his own hand's predicament. Deciding he doesn't mind the casual touch Ichigo just shrugs it off and turns his focus back to the giant screen.

Several minutes pass before the stranger hand is removed. Being engrossed in the movie, the med student vaguely registers a sudden rush of cold to his thigh but doesn't stop to ponder over the change. When in a few moments Toshiro pokes him on his knee again, though, he does feel it – a pleasant warmth radiating from that small palm to his denim-clad thigh. Yet twice in a row is a little odd, Ichigo considers, especially since Toshiro has made no move to acknowledge his own action. _Maybe he needs prompting to speak?_ Upon briefly dwelling on the option in his head, Ichigo leans over to murmur in the boy's ear. "Something the matter?"

Toshiro distinctively shivers, most likely out of cold (even if it's comfortably hot in the theatre). "Huh?" He mumbles in a slightly dazed tone.

_Some prodigy._ Rolling his eyes, Ichigo resorts to eloquently jolting his right leg, causing his knee to bump up into the other bloke's hand.

The reaction comes instantly. Toshiro yelps and jerks his arm away as though it got burnt. "That's – sorry! Thought it was – didn't think it was…"

Ichigo hadn't meant for his friend to throw a tantrum over such a trivial matter. Frowning, the would-be doctor tries to reassure Toshiro. "Hey, it's okay. Got no touching issues." Then, judging it wise to give a practical demonstration, he winds an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders, pulling him a little closer against his chest. Ichigo grins matter-of-factly. "See?"

"Please, get off me."

_What the hell? _

Ichigo can only stare agape and mutely obey, actually concerned about the abrupt, sharp stiffening of his friend's thin form. Toshiro's jaw only unclenches once they're both properly seated and at a reasonable distance from one another.

And it's not like Ichigo isn't dying to question such a peculiar behaviour. But there's an aura of, of – something he cannot quite put his finger on, so heavy and gloomy and dark all of a sudden – he feels too scared to ask. Toshiro is glancing straight in front of him, looking much willing to carve a hole in the ground and disappear there and then (or at least, to forget everything and pretend like nothing out of the ordinary has just happened). Albeit begrudgingly, Ichigo decides he will respect this.

Too bad he can't manage to focus on the sodding movie for the rest of the night after that.

_

* * *

_

_January 9__th_

"What the – ?"

Ichigo can't help but beam in excitement. His plan has worked out so smoothly it's hardly believable. Everybody's done their part extraordinarily well, considering some of the subjects in charge, namely Renji and Matsumoto, happen to be disgracefully low on his Reliable Ones list. "Keep your knickers on, we're done with blind walking for today." True to his words, Ichigo tosses aside the blindfold he'd previously wound around Toshiro's head.

They're standing in the guys' tiny dining room, an opulent table laid out before them. Glancing sideways to monitor Toshiro's reactions, Ichigo crosses his arms to his chest and speaks up with a tone of finality. "So. This should fit you nicely, given how you were moaning about wanting to go home all afternoon." The redhead rolls his eyes. "You managed to drive even Izuru up the wall. Bloody congrats."

"What's this?"

Toshiro's voice cracks toward the end with what Ichigo assumes would be overwhelming emotion. "This is, most obviously, my way of saying sorry for missing your birthday party. Heard it was great, by the way." He adds conversationally, then bites his tongue at the flabbergasted expression on the smaller boy's pale face. "It's just, you looked pretty upset last time we talked about this, so I felt like making it up to you."

The soccer team captain takes a deep lungful of air, his eyes never drifting from the table. Ichigo can tell he's feeling particularly nervous about the lit up candle at the centre – while it's clearly not, well, it's nowhere close to _romantic_, it's not supposed to be… – that igloo-shaped candle is just Ichigo's present, which he picked seeing as Toshiro seems to like winter so much. The snowy head wraps his arms protectively around his middle, before cautiously uttering: "You made me dinner?"

The carrot-top snorts a quiet chuckle. "Hey, I'm eighteen. The hell I know about cooking?" Stepping forward into the room, Ichigo approaches the table and lifts one of the dome-like steel lids he'd set to cover the dishes. A plate of _gyozas_ is revealed. "Thai food. I recall you saying you love it."

Toshiro looks positively entranced for a moment. "I do. That's…"

Grinning like mad, Ichigo braces himself for the sweet words of gratitude that surely are –

"You're an idiot."

"_What?_" Needless to say the redhead's face falls. Hard. "Is this how you – oi! Where the fuck d'you think you're going?"

The athlete doesn't even bother to stop his pacing. "My room. I'm not feeling hungry."

Except he's not going far. _Like fuck!_ "Toshiro!" Ichigo's arm shoots to grab the shorty's shoulder, brusquely spinning him around for the sake of eye contact. The med student is stricken all the more by the utmost sadness reflected in those teal blue pits. "What's wrong? If I've screwed up just say so, but don't turn tail on me!"

Here's when the most unbelievable of all things unbelievable occurs. Toshiro shudders under his touch and, before Ichigo can realize it, he finds himself with an armful of white-haired kid. This is by far the most affectionate Toshiro has ever been with, well, anyone in probably forever, so he makes sure to treasure the moment and store the memory for future reference.

Just as Ichigo takes to patting his friend's head mockingly, the boy lifts his chin enough to mumble in the redhead's shirt. "I told you before. You don't have to be kind to people. They won't appreciate it."

_So this is __him being unappreciative, uh?_ Ichigo can't help but grin at the obvious contradiction. Then again, play it cool is kind of Toshiro's credo, so his cynical remarks about gratitude and displays of affection should come as no surprise. "Why, I like you and want you to be happy. Simple as that, really."

They pull apart soon after and finally set to enjoy their private surprise party. Momo and the others join them after dinner: they spend the rest of the evening together and Ichigo takes Rukia up on the offer to stay the night, given how Renji has dumped him sans car to go out on a date with a mysterious somebody (which will not stay mysterious for long, if Matsumoto's crusading smirk is anything to go by). It's all fun and comfortable and the thai food tastes great, that's why Ichigo just cannot find a single reason why Toshiro has looked so bloody down all night.

* * *

There is, Ichigo decides one fine, very early January morning (so early in fact the sun's yet to rise), something undoubtedly off about the way Toshiro has been acting as of late.

He's thrashing and turning on the makeshift guest bed – formerly known as the couch – seeming unable to get any sleep no matter how firmly he wills himself to relax, when the living room door cracks open.

Toshiro's steps are unmistakable to a close listener: too light for a man yet not half as gracious as a girl's, and, currently, wobbly and unsteady due to all those _Penacarada_ drinks they had at dinner. Instantly fully awake, Ichigo sits up, dreading to be caught off guard in case his white-haired friend was in the mood for some wicked prank. He waits until the slim silhouette is standing right behind the sofa to make his state of awareness known. "Whazzup?"

A sharp intake of breath reveals Toshiro had not been expecting the other boy to be awake. Ichigo hears him shift, take some uncertain steps and finally prop down on his knees at the foot of the bed. His breathing, the carrot-top notices soon after, is laboured and none too regular, like he's going through some kind of pain or distress. Ichigo frowns in concern. He's just about to inquire after Toshiro's state, when –

"I think I'm in love with you."

– all words die in his throat.

_Well, shit. _

_

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Ta-da! Things are going to get much more interesting from now on, I promise. *w*

**Hope the timeline was no trouble this time! I figured the date system would help. But if there were any problems, please, do let me know so I can try and improve. Zx14ninja, this goes for you too! (Thanks for taking the time to review last chapter, btw.)**

**To Kristine93: oh **_**my**_** gawd, your comment made me the happier I've been in weeks! *_* I think from now on things are going to be less cutey-touching-kind-of-sad and more smutty-angsty-kind-of-sad xD let me know how does the change suit you! Thank you so, so much for reviewing, this update was all for you. **

**To Fullmetalkeyblade-13: glad to have you among my readers! Thanks for saying this is original, I'm doing my best. '^^ I just happen to not get along well with chronological order, as my History teacher would beg to attest… See you next update and thanks again!**

**To SillyWQ: awwww, how would I cope without your precious comments? They make me so happy every time, I don't deserve your words! *w* One-sidediness not for much longer**** now, even though… this stays an angsty piece, so do expect some suffering before we're through. ù_ù **

**Next chapter might take a while more, but you know what fuels me to write at a steadier, faster pace? *winks* Please, don't forget to review: it's so very important for an author to know what they're doing right and where they're going wrong! =3 **

**Smooches! **

**.**


	8. Six

… _If anything should happen__, I guess I wish you well_

_A little bit of heaven but a little bit of hell… _

_

* * *

_

He had swore. He had swore Ichigo would never, ever know.

But right now, with the very star of his wildest fantasies draped all over him, their legs entwined in a heated denim mess on the couch, Toshiro is having an oh-so-very hard time hiding his enthusiasm. "Kurosaki…"

Ichigo huffs right in his ear. The puff of warm, wet air makes Toshiro shiver in ecstasy. "What do I have to do to have you calling me by my first name? Marry you?"

_Well, that_ _would_ _be_ _–_ _no!_ Toshiro gulps audibly. How the fuck have they ended up in such a compromising predicament anyway? Oh, right. Renji wanted to celebrate his admission to the police force, which leads to a merry private house party with alcohol streaming sans control, a puking Rukia cursing her life in the bathroom and two very pissed off neighbours who, unappreciative of Matsumoto's good-hearted offer to join for a drink, resolved to call the police instead. _That_ leads to an out of himself Kuchiki Byakuya currently giving Newbie Renji a piece of his mind, while Momo… – Ichigo writhes on top of him, cutting Toshiro's train of thought for good.

To be honest, Toshiro knows the redhead hasn't had much to drink, at least comparing to the rest of them. And he's perfectly aware of Ichigo's high booze tolerance, too. Nevertheless, he figures, having the alcohol card to play at the given moment would be a lot less awkward than trying to find a reasonable explanation for anything they might end up doing tonight. Assuming Toshiro doesn't faint like a bloody girl before they get the chance to actually do something, that is. "Geroff me, you drunk mutt." He grumbles, then makes a half-hearted attempt at pushing Ichigo away.

Too bad the carrot-top is apparently too stupid to recognize a safety measure when he's presented with one. " 'm not drunk. A little tipsy, maybe." He claims, thus royally spoiling Toshiro's getaway plan. _How sweet._ To make their situation even worse, Ichigo buries his face in the crook of the smaller boy's neck, draws a deep breath and exhales contentedly. "This is comfy."

Toshiro lets out a heartfelt snort, eager to mask his inner agitation with much more fitting sarcasm. "Glad to provide a good seat. I don't presume you'd like that armchair better?"

Much to the footballer's surprise – Toshiro had reckoned Ichigo knew better than to answer rhetorical questions – the med student shakes his head no. "This, _all_ this 's comfortable. Lying here together and all. 'tis nice."

_Oh._ _Ow._ Again, Toshiro gulps hard, a surge of heat rising to his cheeks. Okay, let him summarize: he's lying on the couch with the same man he's pictured in various states of undress in his dreams right on top of him, murmuring sweet nonsense in his ear and, and breathing those hot breaths of his and, and, and wriggling and shifting in ways that are so not helping Toshiro's downward friend to stay uninterested. And the worst part about this, Ichigo finds it _comfortable_. _I'm having a heart_ _attack any moment while he might just fall asleep on me! Life's not bloody fair._ Screwing his eyes tight shut in a poor attempt to keep control, Toshiro lets out an embarrassingly shaky sigh. "Ichigo…"

That warrants a happy hum and – oh gods, is Ichigo purring now? "Mm, my name. Like it."

But so far so good. It's not like they've never been close before, given how touchy-feely the redhead is with him all the time (mostly since he's figured out Toshiro's utter distaste for physical intimacy). So far so good, the captain keeps telling himself. Who cares if his heart might just pound out of his chest, or his balls tighten to the point of – so far so good. So far…

_So far_ being till Ichigo shifts again, this time leaving no room for alibis or naïve excuses. Toshiro hears a strangled moan erupt from his own lips, which is funny, really, since he was sure by now he had no air left in his lungs to make a sound. "Ichigo?" He sputters, because _bloody buggering_ _fuck,_ he_'s hard._ Ichigo's boner is pressing against his hip, and it's all Toshiro can do not to bolt screaming in panic.

Au contraire, the carrot-top seems shamefully at ease. "Mh?" He mumbles distractedly before wriggling again and… "Oh." Toshiro can practically _feel_ the other man grin against his skin. "What an interestin' twist."

Okay, yeah, they both are hard, so what? Doesn't mean –

– anything, _ohmygod, holyfuck, ishedoingwhatIthinkhesdoing?_ Ichigo grinds his hips down and Toshiro is positive that's not the kind of move you make unconsciously. The athlete opens his mouth to say something, _what_, what, _what the hell d'you think you could say at a time like this?,_ but Ichigo's hand picks that very moment to slip down the front of his constricting jeans, and Toshiro is lost.

In a moment his legs are spread and they're rubbing up against each other, hard, fast, as if wanting to tear the upholstery and the fabric of their pants with mind-numbing friction. Toshiro's eyelids feel heavy and eventually slide close. As darkness envelopes him, every single sensation is amplified – the burning heat in his groin as well as Ichigo's feverish panting in his ear, the boy's lips grazing his neck ever so slightly, never kissing, tantalizingly.

The soccer player is disoriented (what are they doing and _why, _and how, and what the fuck, seriously?) but can't help arching up to meet each and every thrust, his fingers hooking onto Ichigo's loops to drive his pace, keeping him closer and closer _and_ why exactly aren't they kissing, if they are to do this they should at least be kissing, and, _and_ why are there so many clothes involved anyway? Before, before they reach the end – 'cuz it's near, fuck, so near it's not even funny – Toshiro demands more contact, more touching, more. Anything to make this real. Anything to make this more than random stress relieving between friends, even though he's not going to raise his hopes, for this is exactly what Ichigo must think they're doing. So Toshiro may die for a kiss while the man he's fallen head over heels in… lust with is using him as little more than a mattress.

But he can cope with this. He can live with this, if only, if only –

The moment he finally gathers enough courage to cup Ichigo's hardness through his jeans and pull at the zipper, the redhead snatches his hand away.

Later, it's all Toshiro can do to reassure himself – he wasn't rejected, Ichigo just brushed him off unconsciously in the heat of the moment, and what is he complaining about again? Wasn't his mate's face as he came the most exquisite sight Toshiro's ever beheld?

It doesn't work though.

When it's over (and yes, of course Toshiro shoots in his pants like a twelve-year-old, but it's not so bad if Ichigo does too, right?), the taller boy wastes little time pulling off his now quite sticky human couch, an infuriatingly endearing smile on his lips. "Better go change, otherwise we'll never hear the end of it in the morning!" Ichigo pecks him someplace between his cheek and temple, then leaps up and exits, leaving Toshiro still trying to process whatwhenhowwhyfuck.

* * *

_January 10__th_

"I think I'm in love with you."

Ichigo's reaction is simply priceless. Assuming one would want to pay for a heartbreak, that is. The youth rises to a sitting position, buries his face into his palms and whimpers something which sounds quite like: "Fuck, _no._"

That, despite Toshiro's inner claims his heart has hardened enough to bear this, stings like hell. He takes a deep breath and lowers his head. Not a great idea all in all: his eyes lay on the couch Ichigo has arranged to sleep on, the very same couch they… Toshiro hisses. "Sorry. I was – I wasn't going to tell you. And I shouldn't have." _But last night, what with the private delayed party and, and the hug, and, and you said you like me…_

The way Ichigo shakes his head makes the smaller boy want to hit him. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one who – I am sorry."

Empty, _empty, his words are so empty._ Toshiro hears himself speak before he even realizes it. "After last year…" Ichigo stares intently and he clears his throat. "Last month. At Renji's party."

"What about that?"

Chill. To the bone. "You – you don't…?" It dawns on him. _He doesn't remember. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that sodding night for a single minute since it happened and he doesn't_ _even remember._ That settles it then. Toshiro's voice sounds thin as glass as he rectifies. "Nothing. Forgive me. Forget I even spoke."

It's almost funny how Ichigo grabs his arm to prevent him from leaving, given that Toshiro feels nowhere near strong enough to move a muscle at the moment. "I think it's better if we sort things out now." The carrot-top breathes through gritted teeth, and the other boy knows he's not going to like whatever's coming next. "Even though I don't want to do this any more than you do."

"Ichigo." Toshiro yields to temptation and at least tries to set up a safety net to cushion the impact as he begins falling down. Call it preservation instinct if you will. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. I understand." Then he gets ready to stand up, but the fiery redhead won't have it.

"Damnit, Toshiro!" Those chocolate brown eyes are glaring daggers. If it were later in the morning, were they in plain daylight and all, Toshiro figures Ichigo would be yelling by now. That he's forced to keep his voice down in spite of how thoroughly pissed off he looks sort of amuses the white-haired captain. A sour, even grotesque kind of amusement, sure, whatever. "How can you act like you don't give a shit even about something like this?"

"What else should I do then?" The words leave his mouth in a venomous spit before Toshiro can hold them in, but, screw it, there's no turning back now. Cat's out of the bag, he's got nothing more to lose and may he be damned if he doesn't make the most out of this hopelessness. Digging his knees down on the stuffed cushion, right between Ichigo's slightly parted legs, Toshiro gets on all fours on the couch, his face mere inches away from the med student's. "What would change the way you feel?" He presses, and the words all but clash against the redhead's lips because of the close proximity.

Now – Toshiro thinks, and it's like a bloody epiphany – now he might just kiss him. Would be nothing more than stealing that kiss Ichigo owes him anyway and, damn it all, at least that's bound to make a change. The moment he leans in, teal eyes fluttering close as tough in a state of trance, the redhead shies away in rejection. "Don't." Ichigo's voice sounds awfully hoarse.

Toshiro pulls back as well. Impassive, he stares as the medic student takes his head in his hands and lets out a frustrated growl. "Goddamnit!" Then a glint of what the prodigy identifies as hope passes through Ichigo's eyes. "Look, you can't possibly be in love with me. Perhaps you're just… confusing things a little? We're friends."

So, Kurosaki is not a genius, but to think this would be his logic… Toshiro isn't sure how he should be feeling anymore. Numbness is taking over the stinging ache in his chest, shutting up the voice screaming inside of him to just leave it be already and go find someplace to curl up and die. He's barely conscious of his own words as he replies in a cold, steady monotone. "If you really are my friend then you won't offend me further by doubting my feelings."

That must strike a nerve, for Ichigo falls completely silent, his head bowed in mortification. The captain drinks in the picture of utter defeat for a few more moments before raising to his feet. "Good night." He murmurs a little more gravely than intended and heads out, not expecting to be stopped this time.

Right, he's not expecting Ichigo to call after him. So it really is pathetic how disappointed he feels upon shutting the door behind himself. _Blew it. Blew it, blew it, you fucking blew _everything_. That's just what you get for being unable to bottle it up some more. You little shit reap what you sowed. _

Toshiro was hoping to make it to his bedroom before tears started flowing – he slides against the wall of the corridor and slumps down on the floor, pitifully reaching his breaking point. Looks like Toshiro was being delusional after all.

* * *

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**Thanks to your kind support I willed myself to post this before the week was over! Now, try and picture the lengths I'd go to if many more were to review... *whistles***

**To Kristine93: you are way too good to me, I don't deserve half of what you wrote! °-° What did you think of this chapter?**

**To SillyWQ: hope you weren't let down by the development of last chap's cliffhang-ish situation! Thanks for being there always. 3**

**To FullMetalKeyBlade-13: thanks for saying this is realistic! So, was this chapter too much too soon in your opinion? 'Cause I sort of considered letting them suffer a while more, but the story's not even halfway through and I resolved that wasn't necessary. Let me know what you think!**

**To shikaboo: ha, I'll let you know Toshiro wasn't all that drunk! ;-) Thank you so much for commenting, it means a lot to me.**

**To zx14ninja: I love it that you love it! *hugs* Thanks again! **


	9. Seven

… _This is the way that we love,_

_Like it's forever__…_

_

* * *

_

_March 4__th_

The terraces are crammed with people, mainly students from the rival team college. However, as Ichigo's bleeding ears would assert, their supporters are way louder.

"Go for it, Shiro-chan!"

"Pass! PASS IT! Shit, pass the goddamn thing – "

"Hey, midget! Tha hell ya're doin'?"

"Offside! Bugger!"

Toshiro strolls down the goal line, hence approaching the bleachers. The light blue uniform is glued to his – _lithe yet toned_ – body, his hair has gone down a little – _very_ _prettily_ _so_ – while running and his eyes are sparkling with uncommon – _arousing_ – ferocity.

Alright, Ichigo has tried not to think about it, but it's hard to pretend your best mate never expressed the wish to snog the living daylights out of you. As it is feigning you don't remember how his face looks like as he comes with your name on his lips.

More often than not the redhead finds himself staring and, what's worse, noticing several enticing details about Toshiro he wouldn't even dream of contemplating before. Well, before The sodding Night took place, at least. The night they fooled around and screwed up, when everything sort of started going horribly wrong. Of course they've kind of agreed to carry on pretending like nothing ever happened, mostly in order to keep up appearances, but Ichigo won't delude himself believing things haven't changed.

'Cause they have. To him at least, they freakin' have.

Once the game is over the medic student alone (n' seriously, isn't this enough indication?) rushes to catch up with Toshiro before the team gets back to the locker rooms.

"Well played!"

The silver-haired shorty shoots him an 'are you bloody insane?' kind of look. "We lost. I fucked up. You don't get soccer at all."

Ichigo huffs. Well, 'kay, maybe his judgement is not exactly unbiased, but it wasn't nice to point it out so crudely. He's so going to come up with a nasty retort, something around the lines of… "Thought you looked good all along though." Uh-oh.

"Come again? !"

Toshiro looks absolutely out of it. Is it just Ichigo, or are his eyes actually bloodshot? Then the carrot-top remembers. _Golden Post-Accident Rule #1: Thou shalt not Make it Awkward. _Okay, cando. "Sorry. Slipped my mouth."

Somehow his good save doesn't prove enough to quell the small captain's outrage. Stepping closer till they're face-to-face, teal eyes burning holes in their chocolate-coloured partners, Toshiro hisses through his teeth, uttering word after word very slowly for effect. "I'm warning you, Ichigo. Don't ever think what I – what happened gives you the right to mess with me. 'Cause I'd make damn sure you regretted even trying."

Ichigo swallows and stares. They're so close he can see each and every drop of sweat glistening on the other boy's forehead, so close he can smell adrenaline radiating off his skin. At such short distance Toshiro looks too fuckable for his own, not to mention Ichigo's, good. The carrot-top gulps down the lump in his throat as heat pools in his groin.

Then Toshiro turns on his heels and disappears inside the changing room, leaving behind a dazzled yet undoubtedly aroused Kurosaki, who sighs in relief soon after.

Spell's broken for now. Too bad Ichigo's resolve is dramatically close to breaking as well.

* * *

_July 15th_

Inoue Orihime has taken a break from her Erasmus programme and dropped by to surprise him for his birthday. And Ichigo is surprised alright; surprised that, while in bed with the smoky ginger, his mind keeps wandering to a certain skinny white-haired male.

Afterwards he feels like crying and laughing at the same time – because, seriously. This just can't be his life, can it?

* * *

_September 27__th_

"Wouldn't want to miss a single moment of the 'Clueless 'Zuru-chan and Foxy Eyes Ichimaru' show!" Momo chirps gaily just as Toshiro finally shows up on the threshold. "Oi, Shiro-chan! Late much?"

The boy is still in his jogging suit, slightly panting after the intense training. "Give me five minutes. I need to change."

"You're perfect like this."

Fuck, Ichigo hadn't meant to say it out loud. The dirty look Toshiro casts him clearly proves he should stuff a foot in his mouth. "In fact, I think I'm going to take my time in the shower. You go on ahead, I'll catch up as soon as possible. Wish Kira the best for me if I don't make it."

Now, this is just plain childish. Ichigo scowls. "The fuck we will, c'mon! You're not a sodding girl, are ya?" Yet again, he only realizes his words once they've already left his mouth, and no amount of fixing is going to work. "I meant you look good enough."

"Let go of me."

The funny thing is, the redhead hadn't been aware he was holding Toshiro's arm until the other pointed it out. Great, now his mind's playing tricks on him. Ichigo all but jumps back and groans. "Fine. Have it your way." He raises his hands in surrender as the grumpy athlete walks into the bathroom with a snort. "Shall we, Momo? I seem to recall Izuru's exam's starting in half an hour?"

"Well, yeah, but… why are you pushing me out – Berry!"

Ichigo motions for the dark-haired girl to shut up, then mouths in explanation, _'go_ _on_ _without_ _me'_. An idea has begun to form at the back of his mind. He's not sure whether Toshiro will appreciate, but he can't leave just yet.

After Momo, her eyebrows lifted in a wesogonnatalkaboutthis fashion, is out, the med student starts pacing hysterically right outside the bathroom door. Some wicked, admittedly suicidal part of him is yelling to just go for it and break into the room, to hell with all consequences, but his rational side isn't giving way so soon. Myriads of dirty images featuring Toshiro, nudity and a hot water spray are crowding Ichigo's head, making it nearly impossible for the young man to think straight. He knows he might, he might just – and god knows he wants to at the moment – might just walk in and, and take Toshiro then and there. Even if the captain won't have him, he's positive they could at least come to an agreement… Hell, this is crazy. Crazy. Crazy.

How would Toshiro look like in all his wet, naked glory?

"What on earth are you doing here, you stalker? !"

Crap. Guess he took too long dwelling. Ichigo yelps as the man from his fantasies becomes every bit real and glaring. Damn, Toshiro is just wearing a towel. A small one. Around his waist. Low on his hips.

The white-haired boy's tone is disbelieving. "All this time…?"

Miraculously, the wisest part of Ichigo's brain resumes working. "Thought I'd stay to make sure you actually joined us. We all know how long you take in there every – "

A light kick to his kneecap is all the answer Toshiro provides. Not so bad, all things considered. "I told you before. Don't be an asshole." The small boy grunts warningly, eyeing his friend warily, then sets off, a reluctant "coming right up" on his lips.

* * *

_September 28__th_

Later that night Ichigo slips under the sheets, praying to all known deity plus some more made up for the occasion Renji won't wake up. Sure, getting into his own bed hardly seems like a sinful action to hide from his roommate, but it's just a matter of seconds before – oh, fuck it – Ichigo's hand creeps down his body and between his legs.

Thoughts of Toshiro have been driving him insane with lust all day, if not all bloody summer. Therefore Ichigo does what any horny man would in similar circumstances.

He wanks and likes it. Only when he's thoroughly spent does self-loathing kick in. … for a while. Then lust takes over again, and there's no breaking the friggin' cycle, is there? _Unless…_ Ichigo falls asleep with the word echoing in his brain.

Unless…?

* * *

_November 2__nd_

"Why don't you get into a relationship?" Asks Matsumoto one bright sunny fall morning. They're sitting all together in the college cafeteria waiting for afternoon classes to start, the small captain right across the buxom blonde. Painfully oblivious or just plain uncaring of both Toshiro's and Ichigo's panicked gasps, the woman goes on. "I've been under the impression Berry's sister is into you. Didn't you notice the looks she was sending your way at your last game?"

Something beneath Ichigo's breast _squeaks._ The medic student stares helpless and aghast as Toshiro sputters, his face half buried into his cup of hot chocolate. "Don't be ridiculous. She's, what? Seventeen at best?" The flustered athlete manages at last.

The tepid reaction doesn't put Matsumoto off in the slightest. "Ever so bo-oh-ring, taichou!" The honey-haired girl chides jokingly, her green eyes rolling in their orbits. "What does age matter if two people want to be together?"

"Except they don't wanna be together."

The whole table seems to freeze at Ichigo's sudden burst of annoyance. Too bad it takes way more than an awkward silence to deter Rangiku Matsumoto when she's hunting for spicy news. Or, well, sake. "You mean you haven't noticed either? Man, aren't you blokes clueless! It's your sister we're talking about, how could – "

"Yeah, indeed." Ichigo cuts in, every bit conscious of the bite in his tone. "My little sis. So fucking chill out, alright?"

The tension rises exponentially after that. Even Rukia shifts uncomfortably on her seat. "Uh-oh."

"Anyone fancies a change of topic?" Izuru hastily supplies, only to be promptly deflated by a very much intrigued Renji.

"Wait up, I want to see right through this! You don't think you can keep her forever, right, Berry? Karin's a grown girl, and fiery-tempered too. She'd so bite your head off should you try to get in her way!"

Ichigo is fuming. Hell, he can understand his friends are at a loss about his apparently unjustified irritation, but what the fuck's up with Toshiro's indifferent face? _Like_ _he_ _doesn't bloody know what_ _I…_A new surge of boiling rage in his core forces the carrot-top to stand up abruptly. "Enough of this crap." He grunts, too low for anyone but the shorty next to him to hear. Whatever Toshiro's playing at, he's pretty damn sure he doesn't want to be a part of it.

Unfortunately, his veiled accusation proves not enough to wipe the bored shitless look off the prodigy's impassive face. "Cool down, Kurosaki. I'm not going to come onto your sister anytime soon." Their eyes lock and a glimpse of amusement flickers in Toshiro's narrowed ones. "Didn't picture you as the overprotective brother though."

Fucking brazenfaced prick! Ichigo shoots him a glance liable to kill any man with a less infuriatingly solid apathetic façade. "I'm _not._"

Renji's mocking cry, "aren't you?", follows him as Ichigo pulls on his discarded jacket and sets to leave, unnerved beyond toleration.

"It's not Karin I'm concerned about." The carrot-top all but spits, his eyes never leaving Toshiro's as he speaks. How's that for gettin' your point across? "Stupid fucks." He adds for good measure before storming out of the cafeteria, squirming under the six pairs of eyes fixed on his back.

On his way to the campus Ichigo feels like kicking himself. What the hell is wrong with him? Wait, what the hell is wrong with _Toshiro_ again?

* * *

_December 15__th_

Ichigo stares entranced at the drops of water running on the widescreen. It's been pouring all week, but he's yet to tire of the breathtaking display that is Toshiro with wet eyelids and rivulets of rain streaming down his cheeks.

"You're going to be away this year too?"

The redhead gives a curt nod. "Family holidays. You know the rules." He turns to glance at the small youth in the passenger seat. "We'll celebrate your birthday when I get back though, I promise."

Toshiro's brow knits while his eyes stay fixed on the windscreen, out of Ichigo's scrutiny range. "Don't bother."

It's the carrot-top's turn to frown. "I want to."

"I said don't." Toshiro snaps, and the dark shadow passing through his eyes isn't lost on Ichigo. "Last year didn't end up very well." The captain mutters, still stubbornly refusing to hold the other man's gaze. "I wouldn't want to risk a replay of that fiasco."

_Fiasco._ Somehow the word strikes him harder than it should. "That's the lamest thing I've ever heard." Ichigo scoffs, all the while fighting the urge to grab Toshiro's chin and force him to fucking make eye contact already. "Things change. People change." The redhead's left hand grips the wheel tighter – merely for support since the car is off – whereas the right one lands albeit hesitatingly on the passenger headrest. "One year is a long time, don't you think?"

Toshiro's answer comes out in a lazy, slightly bitter murmur. "Not really. And you're wrong about things changing anyway. I'm right where I was twelve months ago."

"That is, here with me." Ichigo is quick to retort, going as far as to let a tiny, encouraging smile stir his lips. "Not so bad when you look at it this way, is it?"

That, unexpectedly, does it. Toshiro's head jerks so abruptly the doctor in Ichigo fears his neck might strain. "Is this it? You think you're that hard to forget?" The sarcasm in his words is purely venomous to swallow. "_Please._ I'm all over it now."

No sound is heard but the pouring rain. Ichigo sees to it that it's completely silent inside the car before he bends forward to speak slowly in Toshiro's face. "You're not. I know you're not." The med student can't help grinning as his friend's eyes widen in shock and shame. Honestly, who does Toshiro take him for? Ichigo has been reading the signs. Even though the athlete still feels righteously mad at him, that vivid if transitory light shining whenever teal eyes lay on a mop of bright orange hair hasn't gone away even after last year's _fiasco._ Now that Ichigo has discovered the same glint in his own eyes more than once he recognizes it: there's no doubting Toshiro still wants him. His grin broadens as he leans over, reducing the distance between their mouths. "Which is just as good, since – "

"What _the fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been prepared for the possibility that Toshiro might push him off so forcefully. Damn, his breasts feel like they're going to bruise! _Some muscles he's got there_, Ichigo muses, though, far from deterring him, the idea only fuels him to try harder. "You said yourself you were at the same point as one year ago." He objects and cautiously scoots closer to the livid boy beside him. "I'm making a difference."

Again, Toshiro is shoving at his chest before their lips can meet. "Don't touch me! Don't you even dare touch me!"

Ichigo freezes at the hysteric edge in the man's cracking voice.

"What is this, Ichigo? Your Christmas charity almost-shag?" Toshiro barks, and he's staring – no, _looking_ right through him, _gods isn't he gorgeous when he's pissed, _his eyes are filled up with rageand hurt and astonishment and something more he can't quite put his fingeron_, looks like want, is it want, isn't it, _fuck_, 'twas better off when he'd keep his head bowed, I can't do this with his eyes on me, I can't, can't, he's too close, when has he gotten so close, why aren't we just touching, aren't just kissing, why does he have to, have to_ – "Answer me! Is this what I am to you?" Ichigo gasps as the shorter male lets out a growl, aka the sexiest, most maddening sound human ears ever heard. "You're a fool if you think I'm letting you – Kurosaki!"

He couldn't, couldn't stop himself. Ichigo licks his lower lip, searching for any lingering trace of Toshiro's taste there. In vain: the light peck has all but made his blood run hotter and had him aching with the need for more. Judging by the outraged looks the footballer is currently sending him, though, a head-on approach probably isn't the best way to go on about this, so Ichigo settles for keeping their distance and actually paying the boy's words some attention, rather than letting his libido have the better of him. "_Kurosaki?_ You'd still call me that after all we've been through?"

Unluckily enough, Toshiro seems to miss the tenderness behind the redhead's mocking words. "Do you ever listen to what you're saying?" He groans instead, openly exasperated. "You talk as if we were an old married couple!"

"That's how everyone sees us anyway. Might as well give 'em what they want." Ichigo shrugs, hoping to win the spiteful boy's resistance with a witty laid-back tactic. At least, that was the plan before Toshiro went and _blushed_, of all things, thus screwing his sophisticated approach. _Sod it._ Ichigo props his head on his arm, his elbow sill resting against the passenger seat. "What do _you_ want, Toshiro?"

They're locking eyes with no escape. Not that either seems on the verge of retreat: the white-haired young man lifts his chin defiantly. "I want you to act like the man you supposedly are." He impudently utters, making every syllable sound like a challenge Ichigo is not going to turn down. The moment the carrot-top leans in to close the remaining distance between their lips, however, Toshiro jerks back abruptly. Yet_ again._ "Not like this! Man is not he who jumps into action first, damnit!" The smaller boy's tone takes on a disbelieving shade as he withdraws to look into his friend's half-lidded eyes. "Do you still think so low of me? Do you still know me so little?"

In all honesty Ichigo does not know what to think anymore. Hell, he doesn't even know what he's doing, where they're going or how things have taken such a treacherous turn. He hadn't planned anything like this when he'd stopped to pick up Toshiro at the soccer field after his training had been cancelled because of the rain. He'd figured he'd just drive him home and do a little chitchat in the process. But Toshiro just had to bring up the matter of his birthday, hence sparking Ichigo's guilt and utmost longing… Truth is he has, no, they both have been waiting for this to happen far too long, in spite of knowing that nothing good would come out of denying their own urges, and now it feels plain awkward to even think of acting on those forsaken feelings. Furthermore, to fall in lust with your best mate is something, but falling in love with them is something else entirely. Ichigo reckons it must be even harder for Toshiro than it is for himself, so he's going to have to treat him with white gloves.

Cautiously, dreading to blow his chances right from the start, the med student says: "Last year you accused me of being unfair to you denying how you felt. Now I'm trying to be fair. And fair is you still feel for me." Seeing as the captain doesn't look ready to throw a tantrum any moment, Ichigo decides to push his luck and finally bends to whisper in the other's ear. "And god knows I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life."

Toshiro stiffens instantly at the new intimacy. "I'm not a thing." He stutters, but Ichigo can practically feel his determination crumble. "I'm – "

"You're my friend. And I want you so bad it's killing me." Hopefully the sheer sincerity in his words will convince Toshiro of the redhead's good will. Hungry lips move from the prodigy's earlobe to his jaw line, dropping light butterfly kisses on the wake. "Do we really need more? More words, more excuses?" Ichigo mouths against the other's skin, tantalizingly close to his mouth but not quite enough to cause major alarm. "More promises?"

When Toshiro speaks again, it sounds like he'd been holding his breath for ages. "What are you asking me, Ichigo?"

_Enough._ A tiny smile plays on the carrot-top's lips. "I think what I'm asking is…" and Ichigo finally crashes their lips together, stealing the other's boy breath away. Their mouths move tentatively against each other, teasing and prying, yet way softer and sweeter than Ichigo had anticipated. To have Toshiro right here where he wants him can't even compare to his pale, naïve nighttime fantasies, now he knows it. They pull apart panting. Ichigo grins. "…my place or yours?"

It takes the little prodigy a while to process the request, probably due to the redhead's constant lips-teasing. "Someone's bound to be home now." He breathes out at last.

"That settles it then. Renji is at work." Ichigo pulls back to shoot his mate a glance, but the sight he's met with has him groaning in delight and delving forward. His right hand entwines with those spiky silver locks as his lips seek for their partners once more, pushing the tiniest bit harder against Toshiro's sweet, oh so very sweet skin. Fighting to keep a hold of himself, Ichigo barely lets his tongue dart out to graze at his soon-to-be-lover's mouth, thus eliciting a soft whimper of utter want. Blood rushes embarrassingly fast from his brain to his groin, making the med student squirm on the driver seat. "Wanna eat you right up." He blows out in a shaky puff of humid, hot air right on Toshiro's lips.

The smaller youth swallows audibly. "Think you can drive?"

Ichigo gives a shaky nod and straightens on his seat, trembling hands clasping the wheel.

* * *

Realization hits belatedly. They're lying in a naked heap on Ichigo's bed, greedy tongues exploring each other as bare, sweaty limbs entangle, when the med student is faced with an utterly terrifying perspective – he's got short to no idea how to go on about this. It had been easy before through the lust haze that'd clouded the car, but now that things have gotten… well, so real, he –

Toshiro's breath hitches noisily as the white-haired prodigy breaks the kiss, jerking his hips upward in the meantime. "Ichigo?"

The redhead has to fight the urge to scream. "M-Mh?"

Their erections rub tentatively together, hard and smooth and just wet enough to assure the perfect pain/pleasure balance. Ichigo's eyes roll back in their orbits as the youth instinctively grinds his hips down into his partner's. _Too much, too much, too much._ "Don't worry." The med student mutters randomly before pressing an open-mouthed, slightly sloppy kiss on the other's pulse point. Heck, isn't Toshiro's heart beating much faster than normal? Ichigo has to bite back a groan while nuzzling his soon-to-be lover's neck. "Want you so bad."

Toshiro pushes upward into the taller man's groin, his hands desperately kneading firm butt cheeks. Such an openly wanton move sets Ichigo off completely. The redhead's fingers trace an unsteady path along the footballer's flat stomach and abs, then skim to grasp the boy's twitching manhood. It's all he can do not to break down and bloody beg for Toshiro to touch him in return.

Clenching his fist around the stiff organ he takes to pumping it in erratic jolts of his wrist, too hungry and lust-filled to start off on a slower pace. The small prodigy is arching in his touch within moments, panting helplessly.

"Ichigo… can I… let me…"

The redhead nods his approval, but what happens next is not what he was expecting. A sweated palm bumps against his leaking hard-on and before he knows it Toshiro is mimicking his energetic pumping, brushing his thumb on the glistening tip to gather the shiny precum there. Ichigo curses loudly as his lover's lean legs wrap around his waist pressing him closer till there's no more than a few inches separating their naked bodies. "Fuck, T'shiro!"

The smaller boy arches up and they lock lips, desperate to convey the insanely hot sense of urgency through a fierce dance of tongues. The not quite muffled _thwack_ sound of their busy hands is somehow disgraceful, but so arousing too Ichigo finds himself being addicted to the noise – a discovery he makes sure to share by moaning lustfully in Toshiro's mouth. His lover replies by pressing his heels in the back of the redhead's calves, thus stimulating a spot Ichigo had absolutely no idea felt so immensely erotic.

They roll their hips together as both erections slide in the tight coils provided by their fists. Toshiro is the first one to snatch his lips away and bore his glazed eyes into foggy brown ones. "Ichigo!" He mutters urgently seconds before reaching his climax with a low growling sound that has the taller man's mouth going dry with want.

Hot dense liquid runs down Ichigo's palm, the redhead refusing to let go of the beauty that is Toshiro's throbbing length just yet. His own hips jerk harder than intended to thrust into the snowy head's fist and within moments he's following his partner into blissful release.

They ride off their orgasms together, sticky skin against sticky skin, before laying still and sated on the bedspread they were too careless to pull off before slipping out of their clothes – admittedly a tad too eager for their own good. _Talk about jumping a stage or twenty_, Ichigo muses as Toshiro huddles up beside him, their legs lazily entangling in the discarded sheets.

Wow.

That… really was some itch to scratch.

Toshiro sighs contentedly on his skin, and Ichigo has to wonder whether it's normal for him to feel so deep in shit after his most nagging wish has just come true.

* * *

.

* * *

**Well, well, well. Another year has passed, and our heroes finally got together... or not? Mh, Ichigo doesn't feel too much like the loving boyfriend in here, does he? (If he did, that'd mean I've miserably failed this story :p) Anyway, things will become clear with next chapter. Speaking of which: chaps 9 and 10 were originally meant to be posted together, but length reasons convinced me to split the update - I've been told loooong chapters are hell to read even if the story's good, so why tormenting my most beloved readers? *w* Obviously, chapter 10 is going to be Ichigo's POV too. **

**On with the thanksgiving! :D (Me got 6 reviews, yay! Me so happy she could cry ;_;)**

**To BreathexFreely: hope this chap made you change your mind about wanting to slap Ichigo xD. Poor thing can't exactly help his feelings, can he? Let me know what you thought of this, thanks for reviewing! **

**To FullMetalKeyBlade-13: you guessed perfectly, more threads in need of some tying. :D You must know, I loved every single word of your review. Why would you apologize for its length? O_O Long reviews make authors' hearts squish with warm fuzzy feelings! *_* At least that's what they do to me, I guess. THANK YOU!**

**To Kristine93: knowing how intensely you're feeling this story drives me insane with pride and more than a little bewilderment. I don't find this half as good as you do, I'm afraid '^^. Well, maybe your comments will make me appreciate my own work a bit more. :) I don't think my English is good enough to express the sheer gratitude your comments inspire me, so I'll just put it in Italian and let you know I mean it with every cell in my body: GRAZIE! **

**To SillyWQ: I'm utterly touched by your enthusiasm! *_* Really, you girl are an amazing reviewer, and I'm so proud to have you among my readers! That said, I'm dying to know your opinion on this chapter. Bad, good, horrible? Weird, off? Lemmelemmelemme know! Lust Time building up fast now :D. As usual, special thanks to you for being there right from the start. ;-)**

**To zx14ninja: was this update soon enough? More important, was it any good? xD Thank you so much for supporting me!**

**Last but not least, to cryptonomicon: I swear your initial "blegh" caused my heart to skip a beat. Thought you were disgusted with my story! That'd so crush my little IchiHitsu heart. ;_; (I'm serious, y'know!) Now, how to reply to such a wonderful review? I've got the feeling anything I'd say would not be enough to thank you properly. Six times, you say? Ack, I don't think I've ever read the same story so many times even if I'd loved it with all my being! O_O I don't deserve any of you people, but I'm so glad to have you! *w* I hope you weren't let down by this chapter.**

**Please, to all of you anonymous, non-reviewing readers: let me know what you think! Especially if you believe I'm lacking something or could improve somehow, just tell me and I'll try to! ^o^ **

**Next update coming asap. ;-)**


	10. Eight

…_Then live the rest of our life,_

_But not together… _

_

* * *

_

"Ya like it?" Ichigo asks around a mouthful of Toshiro.

The white-haired youth's effort to speak is quite endearing, really. "W-What?"

Blowing an apologetic kiss on the moist tip of his lover's arousal, Ichigo pulls back to look up expectantly. "This place. How dad and I redecorated it."

"Nh. Yeah. Took a lot of _w-w_ork though." Toshiro's voice cracks toward the end as a hot mouth envelopes him again.

For brief moments, before Ichigo once more withdraws. "Yer right. And I'm still working on it."

The sly smirk arching the redhead's lips leaves little doubting what he's getting at. Very much aware of his vulnerable position – pinned against a pillar – the soccer captain barely groans, fighting back any attempt at resistance for the sake of overdue orgasm. Ichigo can tell all that's crossing his mate's mind as he nibs ever so gently at the side of his pleading manhood. They've been going at it for a whole hour now, and he's really starting to wondering how long can a healthy young man hold off his climax before his balls all but explode. Deciding that's not a sight he ever wants to behold – he's got too much use for Toshiro's balls to lose them like this – Ichigo swallows around the thick length stretching his cheeks until he's practically gagging on the head. The cry of pure ecstasy that warrants though is worth all the trouble.

Toshiro's fingers are pulling fiercely at orange locks soon after as the boy finally loses it and starts fucking his teasing lover's mouth in vicious thrusts. Ichigo has to keep himself from grazing his teeth against the hypersensitive skin, for at the pace they're going now that would so not be pleasant. The hand cupping Toshiro's sac can feel it tightening spasmodically mere moments before the first sprouts of hot semen fill Ichigo's mouth and run down his throat, both punishing and nourishing.

Few drops of pearly liquid are dripping from the med student's chin as he lifts his head to send his lover a defiant smirk. He fails to make eye contact, though, for Toshiro's gaze is obstinately fixed on the nearby wall – probably out of sheepishness, Ichigo reckons, and gives the strange occurrence no more thought.

* * *

"So. Whatcha gettin' midget for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Ya bloody oblivious berry, tomorrow's your first Valentine's together as a couple!"

Ichigo casts Renji a genuinely perplexed look. "Toshiro and I are not a couple at all. I thought we'd set this straight with you guys?"

"It's not us you should set things straight with, y'know."

"… what's this supposed to mean?"

Renji has a funny face on, namely a serious one – it just suits him so oddly. "Nothin'. But you might want to… well, be a li'l more careful around the boy, mate. He's obviously got it bad for you, so jus', play fair, 'kay?"

Ichigo feels like the most absurd of all things absurd is going on right before his eyes. "_You_ are taking _Toshiro's_ defences? You, who're always teasing him and giving him hell because of his height, or – "

"Well, _I_ don't fuck with him. Not his brain nor god forbid his scrawny ass."

Several different answers cross Ichigo's mind (_"so _not_ scrawny"_ and _"haven't actually fucked yet"_ being his tops), but the youth bites them all back opting for seriousness. "What do you want me to do? 's not like you switch love on and off."

"You don't. That's exactly why I'm asking you to handle this carefully. Midget already been through a lot."

"Needn't tell me." The carrot-top snaps, unable to help feeling irritated at the patronizing tone. Hell, who knows Toshiro better than him? Who cares for him more than Ichigo does? "And we've got no use for that Valentine's bullshit anyhow. But I'll let you know I might just dress up as Cupid for a private hardcore show in our room while you'll be at the headquarters tomorrow."

"… that was _much_ more than I needed to know."

* * *

Water keeps streaming along the round curve of Toshiro's buttocks, landing in lukewarm sprays on top of Ichigo's head – which is indeed happily nestled between the smaller boy's ass cheeks at the moment. The redhead's rough tongue is flickering against the wet puckered hole and plunging inside the tight channel, trying to keep up with the unsteady rhythm of Toshiro's wanking.

Whose idea was it to do this in the gym public stalls again?

_Mine, right._ Ichigo sneers to himself, which results in a none too pleasure scraping of his teeth against the thin layer of skin between Toshiro's twitching hole and his scrotum, a tiny spot that usually has the snowy head wriggling like mad.

"Mind your…"

"Sorry."

Here's when Ichigo decides he's done with foreplay and wraps his moist lips around Toshiro's balls, first, then his awaiting opening. He takes in as deep a breath as he can manage and delves his tongue in a couple of times, before pulling out and lavishing the exterior with eager lapping. When he finally takes on suckling the already throbbing hole, his hands digging in the easily bruised skin of Toshiro's milky thighs, the captain gives a broken sob and relieves himself all over the soaked tiled wall.

Ichigo is quick to spin his lover around, keeping him in place with one hand lest he lose his balance. The med student takes his sweet time licking away all the remnants of creamy fluid water hasn't washed off yet, before rising on slightly wobbly legs to a reasonable kiss-height. And kiss he does, pressing Toshiro maybe a bit viciously against the soiled wall of the cubicle. The footballer lets him in willingly, if lazily, and Ichigo takes full advantage of the beautifully intimate position – standing stark naked in the shower together, of all places, is not a luxury they can easily afford – to rub his already spent manhood against his partner's lower belly, more out of the sheer need for proximity than any lustful intention.

Toshiro seems to misinterpret this, though. He pulls back half-heartedly before glancing up at the redhead with glassy eyes. "You want me to…?"

An agile hand wraps itself around Ichigo's semi-hard length, causing the boy to gasp loudly. A short hesitation before he shakes his head, lips twitching in a soft smile. "Nah. It's okay. Let's jus' stay like this."

They stand still, sated and contented, melding together for a while longer under the tepid water spray.

* * *

"Oi, Izuru. You doing well?"

"Good morning, Kurosaki-kun. I'm just fine, thanks for asking. You look positive radiant!"

"Yeah. 's a good period all in all."

"I take it you've finally discussed the matter of your feelings with Hitsugaya-kun, then."

Ichigo's brow knits in a taut scowl. "My – what?"

"I'm sorry! Was that supposed to stay a secret? I – I swear I won't tell a soul, it's just – Renji told me, and I…"

"Calm down, it's okay. I just don't get what you're talking about."

"You mean you haven't, you know, told Toshiro how you feel?"

_Hold on._ "And how would I feel – " Ichigo trails off abruptly. What's the point in arguing over something like this? The redhead pulls on a calmer façade. "Nevermind. I'll just make sure Abarai quits blabbing out my personal affairs to the winds. No offence, mate."

"None taken. Just, Ichigo…"

"Huh?"

"There's something Gi – I mean, Ichimaru used to say to me back when we – well, when we first got together." The blonde inhales sharply before blurting out all in one go. "Snakes shall swallow their preys whole."

"Huh? What's that, a riddle?"

"It took me a while to figure it out too. But I think I finally get it." Izuru worries his bottom lip with his teeth while deciding how to put his revelation in words. "Snakes shan't stop to enjoy their victims' taste. It's not in their nature to do so." He attempts at last. "You see, Gi – _Ichimaru_ prides himself on being much like a reptile, so I figured what he really meant when he said that was," the blonde pauses, for effect or true uncertainty Ichigo can't tell, "men who were to try and become similar to snakes should know better than to take small bites when devouring their preys."

Silence. What, is this it? An orange eyebrow shoots upward. "How enlightening."

"Sorry. It's supposed to mean, if you set to be ruthless you have to go all the way."

Oh, now that's better. _Wait_, what's it got to do with him? Ichigo snorts, resolving to tackle the matter head-on. "Charming. Why are you saying all this to me again?"

Izuru's mouth falls open and closes a couple of times before the youth eventually retorts. "No reason. None at all." He suddenly looks in a haste to leave the room, and does just so, waving nervously at his red-haired friend before crossing the threshold. "Have a nice day, Kurosaki-kun!"

Ichigo feels like his day has been pretty much spoiled.

* * *

Slowly, one inch at a time, careful, careful not to tear, not to hurt, no more than it's bound to, dreading to scare him, dreading to harm him, fighting to control, control the desperate pull, the need, the _need_, running, running in his blood, pumping furiously in his veins, his, his –

Toshiro pushes back full force, practically impaling himself on Ichigo's cock. "Am not… gonna break, you idiot. Just get on with it."

Ichigo doesn't think he wants to 'just get on with it'._ It_ is supposed to be their bloody first time, both Toshiro's and his own – what, he's not very experienced when it comes to homosexual intercourse – and it hardly seems right to, to just do it like it was nothing.

Shit, whenever has he cared about this sort of things before?

Pulling back a little, ever so cautiously, Ichigo waits for Toshiro's encouraging gasp to tell him it's okay to discard the metaphorical white gloves and take things to the next level. Breathing noisily through his nose he thrusts in, hissing at the crazy feeling of tight muscles squeezing his most sensitive part. Oh fuck, why have they waited so long for this? There's no way in hell Ichigo's going to last.

"Could use a bit harder, you know."

Toshiro's sarcastic remark pulls him out of reverie. Realizing he has pretty much stilled all movements to avoid bursting on the spot, Ichigo grunts an apology and brusquely jerks his hips to kneel more comfortably on the narrow bed – god knows college rooms are not fit for sex. Blood literally chills in his veins, though, as Toshiro lets out the loudest moan Ichigo's ever heard, and he's _not_ sure that's a good thing, damnit. The carrot-top hastily slides out, only to be forced back in by an uncommonly vicious hand groping his ass.

"_Don't._ Move."

Fuckfuckfuck. What has he done? Has he hurt him? Has he damaged him? If yes, is it permanent? Maybe his sphincters have undergone too much pressure, causing the inner walls to strain o rip or…

Toshiro relaxes around Ichigo's hardness to let it in deeper, giving a trembling sigh in the process. "Damn. I didn't think that'd feel quite so good." The silver-haired prodigy turns to cast a backward glance at his lover, whose face must be totally blank at the moment if Toshiro's subsequent smirk is anything to go by. "What? You're the doctor."

Those revealing words are punctuated by a sharp roll of hips that all but sucks Ichigo's manhood further inside. The redhead screws his eyes tight shut in both sheer pleasure and utter shame. _Prostate stimulation. That's fucking right._ How convenient his urology exam isn't due for a couple of months yet! He's going to need much more practice in order to pass it.

All thoughts of university and exams desert him as Toshiro bumps back to meet his thrusting halfway and whimpers lustfully in the process. Here's when Ichigo realizes he's sort of let his guard down, judging by the painful throbbing of his own aching erection – he's a lot closer than he thought he, _oh shit, Toshiro is jerking off._

"Ichigo, _please._"

The commanding tone is anything but begging, and Ichigo would be almost tempted to deny him were it not for the little detail that's his own impending release. So he obliges both Toshiro and himself by setting a frantic pace, pounding repeatedly into the quivering boy under him till his rock hard manhood is mercilessly squeezed by strong clenching muscles. Somewhere in the haze of the moment Ichigo leans over to rest his chest against Toshiro's well-defined back, wanting, needing to feel him closer – here's when the athlete throws his head back in ecstasy and increases the pace of his stroking. Ichigo makes sure to cover his lover's hand with his own before allowing himself to let go.

He comes, hard, noisily, moaning dirty nonsense next to Toshiro's ear. Bloody hell, climaxing inside someone else's body never felt this _draining_ before. He rides off his orgasm in shallow thrusts until Toshiro reaches back to force him further in, obviously desperate for release himself. Coming down from his high, Ichigo pushes in as far as his softening cock would go and pumps his mate's leaking erection faster.

Fuck, if Toshiro isn't over soon they'll need to have another round in a few moments.

Luckily (or not) the whiz kid empties himself in his partner's hand within seconds, convulsing upon the now awfully messy and kind of sticky bed sheets. Ichigo absent-mindedly tells himself he'll have to bring them to the laundry before Renji comes back; then Toshiro wriggles meaningfully beneath him and he catches the drift, pulling out and rolling onto his side soon after.

They lie staring at the ceiling for a while. Better yet, Ichigo stares at the ceiling while Toshiro is face down struggling to regain his breath. The med student sneaks him a glance, then two, then three, before finally draping a casual arm around his slim waist.

Toshiro's sidelong gaze is quizzical for lack of a better word. "What're you doin'?"

Ichigo scoffs. "Jerk." Then he scoots closer to the captain, wrapping both his arms around the slender young man. At Toshiro's frown he replies with a mock exasperated eyeroll. "Cuddlin'. That's what lovers do, ya genius." _Lovers? Whoa. I like the sound of that. _

Toshiro snorts, but leans into the warm embrace nonetheless.

* * *

"Say, Karin."

"Huh?"

Ichigo has to will himself to take a deep breath. Damn, this is getting way harder than he thought it would. "Last week, when you – you had that game at – with your team, I – "

"It's okay you couldn't be there, Ichi-nii. I understand. Your friends were all very supportive anyway, so we're just cool."

"Yeah, that's kinda… my friends, you – who came again?"

"Who? Mh, let me see. Well, I had only invited Toshiro since he's sort of the pro, but Pineapple Head and the lot insisted on coming along."

_I bet. __Bloody snoops. _

Ichigo is trying to collect his thoughts so that hopefully he won't sound as awkward as he's feeling when his little sister decides she's done waiting. "Why so interested all of a sudden, Ichi-nii? Is something the matter?"

"No. No, just…" _Ay, there's the rub._ "Karin." _Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to – why _the fuck _Shakespeare now of all moments? ! _"You don't… have feelings for Toshiro, do you?"

"Feelings?" The dark-haired girl blinks with extreme cautiousness, once, twice. "You mean if I like him?"

"Well, actually – yeah, that's what I mean."

As if mimicking her brother's oh-so-very common face, Karin scowls. "Of course I do. He's the one friend of yours who doesn't seem to be a complete tosser."

_Can't argue with that._ "Right, but do ya – do you think of him in a romantic sense?" Ichigo blurts out in one breath, his hands twitching in anguish behind his back. Fuck, someone kill him now, _now, please,_ but he _has_ _to_ know. Has to know if he's running against his little sis for… 'cause he might just leave him to her, then, and be through with this. Even if it doesn't feel, well, right. To, to give him up. Give Toshiro up. For Karin's sake. Christ, isn't this utterly insane.

"Are you sure you're okay, Ichi-nii? You're all red and asking strange questions."

A pitiful groan escapes his lips before Ichigo can stop it. "Just answer?"

The girl is silent for a long minute, during which all kinds of equally dreadful scenarios cross the redhead's mind, before casually shrugging. "Why would I fancy him when he's clearly into my big bro?"

Ichigo hears a loud sigh of relief leave his own mouth. Then, as realization sinks in, a strangled croak. "He _what?_"

Showing off one more technique she's mastered by studying her brother, Karin practices her infamous eyeroll. "Half the time he's ogling at you like you were a piece of meat, the other half he's making moony eyes and being pathetically obvious. You're not going to tell me you've never noticed, right?"

"I – I…" As painfully lame as it sounds, Ichigo can't seem to find a single intelligible answer. Apart from the hurried, "thank you" he mutters while bolting out of the room, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and his ominously clever sister.

Seriously, the problem with smartheads? They seem to know it all ages before you do.

* * *

It's just plain absurd how intense Toshiro looks while bouncing in his lap with his mouth fallen slightly open, head bowed on Ichigo's shoulder, panting and whimpering softly in his ear.

"I…"

Ichigo shuts him up with a somewhat desperate kiss. The urgency in his move isn't lost on the smaller boy, who speeds up his riding, nails digging almost painfully in the thin fabric of the redhead's shirt.

It's getting uncomfortably hot in the car and the plastic seat cover is rubbing none too pleasantly against the softer skin of his exposed thighs, but Ichigo can't bring himself to care for anything other than Toshiro's intoxicating scent and the way he's pointedly rocking his hips, wriggling wonderfully all around the med student's erection. Chocolate brown eyes roll back in their orbits as the white-haired prodigy lifts himself up only to slump down hard, letting his lover's manhood deeper inside.

"I… I…"

And Ichigo knows. He couldn't not know, with the way Toshiro's eyes seek for his amidst the raising and thrusting and _fucking_ – damn, even the definition sounds right no longer. He tries to stop those goddamn three words from flowing past his lover's lips by setting a steady pace, aiming at Toshiro's sweet spot with every jolt of his hips, but it's insanely hard to oblige their bodies when, when –

– when there's so much to be said yet, and Toshiro is practically begging to just let it out and give this thing between them a whole new meaning. Ichigo can't pretend like he doesn't know exactly what's going on, even if it's crazy, really, how much things have changed in the past year. How he's grown to care. To feel.

"Ichigo!"

Toshiro grinds his throbbing cock into the carrot-top's taut belly before clenching his inner muscles spasmodically. Ichigo cups that sharp, astoundingly gorgeous face between his palms and gasps right on the kiss-swollen lips of that beautiful little god in his arms.

"I know. I know."

They kiss and thrust and moan, and it's all over in a swirl of pure white.

Afterwards, once Toshiro has started squirming to slip back in his pants, it's all Ichigo can do not to pin him against the passenger seat and snog him senseless while muttering stupid lovey-dovey crap on his lips. He's still struggling to keep his instincts under restraint when a weak sigh comes from Toshiro's general direction.

"Ichigo."

The redhead stretches over the gearshift to put an arm around the back of his passenger's seat. "Mh?" Then the captain raises his head to look up, and Ichigo instantly knows he's got to stop him before –

"I love you."

– it's too late. _Damn it._

Because he can't. He… Ichigo just can't. It's simply not on.

A low hiss escapes him as the carrot-top scoots even closer, rubbing the tip of his nose against Toshiro's temple affectionately. _Lovingly. Fuck._ "I know."

He whispers it again and again, and prays that it will do. For Ichigo isn't sure if he can ever say the words, but there's no way he's going to give this up now.

_I_ _know_ is not _I love you too._ Yet somehow, as Toshiro curls by his side, words don't seem to matter so much anymore.

* * *

**.**

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* * *

**

**To FullMetalKeyBlade-13: I think I've lost you on this one, haven't I? xD Too much smut all in one sitting, I'm afraid. **

**That said, I'd want something known about this chap. I didn't feel like making up random dates, but I hope the gradual changing of Ichigo's feelings showed anyway. As a matter of fact, there's a great difference between the first and the last smut scenes in here; even intimacy undergoes several changes in time, and it would really, really make my day if you let me know whether I succeeded in getting this particular point across. *-***

**So: smex's heaven to readers, but gives writers hell! (At least, it does to me!) Feed my muse? *shameless attention whoring mode:ON***

**I got some extraordinary reviews last chap, so Kristine, Silly WQ and JyacinthX (new reader, wow!), thank you all from the bottom of my heart. *w* I'm running out of ways to show you my gratitude, so I'll just keep writing as fast as I can to keep you entertained… as long as you wish for me to, that is!**


	11. Nine

… _This is the way you left me,_

_I'm not pretending…_

_

* * *

_

New Year's Eve.

Well, more like New Year's Day by now.

Toshiro can smell him before he sees him – a faint hue of cherries mingling with the stronger musky scent that's purely Abarai. That, and the peculiar pineapple form could hardly pass for anybody else's, even in the dark of the landing. "Piss off, Renji."

"And Happy New Year to you too, midget!"

Toshiro stops a few paces from the taller man, whose irritating grin he replies to with a sharp glare. Bloody asshole. "I'm being serious. Get out of my sight."

As he begins fumbling with his pockets to produce his keys, the little prodigy hears Renji sigh condescendingly. "My, is this any way to greet a mate who's dropped by just to bestow upon you his most heartfelt wishes of a merry New Year's Day? Midgets really are cruel creatures!"

"Save it. Like I can't tell Ichigo sent you." Toshiro huffs irritably. Where the hell have those goddamn keys gone to again? "Do everyone a favour and go, how was it?, bestow upon him my most heartfelt: fuck off, rot in hell. Feel free to add the bit about New Year's Day, I don't really care."

Just as he finally gets to unlock the door, Renji grasps his wrist, effectively holding it in place. "How about you hear me out instead?" The redhead offers with an uncommon steady face. "I can assure you Ichigo's got no idea I'm here."

Toshiro contemplates his options for a few seconds, before sighing in defeat. _Screw it._ Who's he trying to fool? There's not really much of a choice here. "What do you want, Renji?" He tiredly asks.

The policeman looks slightly taken aback by his ill-tempered mate's prompt surrender. Renji shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting briefly before blurting out: "I went to see him. He's a wreck, y'know."

Ichigo_ is a wreck?_ Toshiro snorts in half suppressed laughter. The irony of it all. "Did you know it's always the end of the year that does it for him?" He hears himself say without really realizing it. "Always. Wonder why it feels like he doesn't give a shit all other days."

Oddly enough, Renji doesn't seem surprised this time. The pineapple head shrugs. "Maybe it's his sense of guilt for not spending your birthday together." He suggests, obviously trying to keep a steady face while arching an eyebrow. "Did you ever manage to see each other on that day?"

"We did have our private parties afterwards, I assure you." Toshiro casts the taller man a pointed look. "And by 'private parties', I mean sex."

"Huh, yeah. I'd sort of figured it out the first time you said it."

The little prodigy shakes his head. It's not easy to sound cool and detached about something he's still hurting over, but Toshiro needs to get his message across. Just in case Renji were to speak with Ichigo after all, he tells himself. "I mean sex is all that's ever been there between us. Nothing else. We can have nothing other than sex, that's why I fucking ran tonight." _Way to convince yourself, babe._

The former engineer's voice is soft when he retorts. "We both have known Ichigo for a long time, Toshiro. He's a kind bloke."

"Have we?" The white-haired youth toys with the keys in his hand, looking overall downcast. "I say we have known two very different Ichigos. By this I don't mean I know him better than you do, just differently. I've dealt with sides of him that were never shown to you." The messy mop of silver hair comes to rest against the doorframe as Toshiro bows his head. "Ichigo is much more selfish than he lets on, and gets just plain scary at times." His voice cracks for the briefest moment before steadying again. "But I don't mind. I never blamed him for not feeling the way I do about… us. It was just fine, until – I'd take anything. Any shit he'd throw at me I'd take, as long as he was being honest. As long as I knew he wasn't messing with my head." Resentful teal eyes shoot upward. "Tonight he crossed the line."

Renji's brow knits in a taut scowl at that. "Why? Is it so hard to believe he might have grown to, to – shit, don't make me say it! – oh crap, _love_ you in return?" (The l-word is all but spat out.)

When the shorter guy just chortles, the policeman quizzically cocks his head to the side. "Am I missing the joke?"

Toshiro scoffs in disbelief. "He said the very same thing, you know. About it being hard to believe." A tiny smile curves his lips in spite of everything. "You've really rubbed off on each other an awful lot through the years."

Renji's characteristic shitface grin appears. Toshiro finds himself strangely comforted. "That would be you two. I'm as pure and chaste as the snow out there." Something apparently occurs to him at the mention, for the ex engineer gestures toward his mate's scarcely clad form. "Aren't you cold, by the way? Where's your jacket?"

The answer flashes through Toshiro's mind like lightning. _Ichigo's car. What a cliché, seriously._ "I'll leave that to your imagination." The prodigy deems it wiser to censor himself. Feeling suddenly worn out, he slouches against the door, which cracks open at the pressure. Tempting: to barricade himself in his flat never seemed as appealing a perspective as it does this very moment. Stepping a single foot in warningly, Toshiro urges the redhead on. "Anything else?"

A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of Renji's lips. "You not gonna answer either of us, huh?"

What's the point? _No, really, what is it? I'm cold, and I'm tired, and I just wanna get some sleep, I just wanna get back there, where everything was heavy but bearable, where it all was true, where I could tell what was going on all the time, where sulking felt like a most preferable option than raising my hopes, back there where, where, _whereIchigo was still his friend and fuckbuddy, not,_ not, not this._ "Christmas, I'm told, works like a charm to make some people better. Me, I only get bitter." Toshiro mumbles instead. Looking up to meet the redhead's eyes, he offers sincerely, if clumsily. "Want a cup of hot chocolate, or something?"

"Nah. Am a tough lad. And I need to get back to the HQ anyway, or Kuchiki-taichou will have my head on a plate and eat it up at his precious New Year's Day dinner."

A mocking grimace stretches the footballer's features. "I hate to break this to you, but your ugly head wouldn't make enough of a posh meal for people like them."

"Hn. Guess yer right." Renji snorts, only half serious as a bright grin stirs his lips. "So, have a nice whateva. I'll see ya around." He lifts a hand in goodbye while strolling toward and down the staircase.

Toshiro can't help feeling grateful for the other man's sensible retreat. "See you around." He nods, more to himself than anything since Renji can't see him. "Happy New Year, Abarai." He calls after the policeman as the spiky vermillion head disappears at the bottom of the stairs.

…

The door creaks when Toshiro steps inside the dark, empty apartment. His flatmates won't be back before morning comes, so he's got a couple of hours ahead all to himself.

He doesn't feel – he doesn't feel anything at all, really.

New Year's Day anaesthesia. Who's he to fight it? Shrugging, Toshiro slips into bed and drowns all his, all his – all of it, all, every single thought, every tingling of pale skin, every drop of sweat, every kiss, every flash of orange hair – in deep slumber, hoping that morrow hangovers will do the trick and have things reverting to the way they were before.

* * *

… _No hope, no love, no glory_

_No Happy Ending…_

_

* * *

_

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****WARNING: from next chapter on, the storyline will move onto the events following "Lust Time". That's right, you all finally get to see what happens after that :°D . Sorry for keeping you waiting so long!**

**To FullMetalKeyblade-13: you know what? Your interpretation, although different from mine, has me totally fascinated. °w° I honestly had assumed you all would get Ichigo's softening for what it's supposed to be, aka a prelude to the "Teaser", but your insight analysis gave me pause. Heck, don't you hate it wen your readers seem to understand your story better than you do? xD**

**To sblack13: smut is good for your health! :°D Thanks for saying I succeeded! ;-) **

**To zx14ninja: awwwww, you're sweet =3 thanks!**

**To SillyWQ: you are priceless. *w* I'm not sure how to reply, but let it be known I read each and every of your words with utmost pleasure and pride. As for your answer... does Ichigo look like he's in love to you? (I'm genuinely curious!) Consider the events taking place at New Year's Eve, which Toshiro gave his verion of in this chapter. Anyway, the story's anything but over =D so I s'pose we'll see! Thank you SO much for, you know, being there. It's great to know I can count on your support. **

**Last but not least, to my friend Kristine, who got an anticipation of this update: how was it? I promise next chapter won't take long to come up! ^o^/**

**Everyone else, please, do take the time to tell me what you think of my work! Reviews keep an author going. **


	12. First

**REMEMBER!** The events taking place in this chapter and the ones to come follow after "Lust Time".

* * *

.

* * *

It had started off innocently enough.

"A party, ya say? When?"

"In a fortnight. Ise-san of the Social Events Organization committee has asked for my help with this since she's so busy all the time babysitting that weird old Kyoraku man – what should a young, smart girl such as herself want to do with a jackass like that, it really is ahead of me! – and you know how crazy things got over Christmas hols at the committee, I just couldn't say no to her! But finding a place this time of the year is virtually impossible, so here you are – the _Gotei_ is my last resort! Please, don't turn me down, Berry!"

"Last resort? Thanks a freakin' lot, Momo." Ichigo had snorted in the phone. By then his hand had already been scribbling down on the reservations notebook, though, since denying an old friend was out of question whatever the case. "Anyway, what'd we be celebratin'? Please, don't tell me Izuru and that creepy snake are engaged, or I might just change my mind and hung up on you this instant. No hard feelings, mind ya."

With hindsight, Momo's voice _had_ sounded slightly shaky after that. But – bloody foolish of him – Ichigo had not given it much thought. "Oh no, no, it's nothing like that at all. Just some, some, y'know, college traditional crap. You needn't worry about a theme for the night either, the committee's taking care of that. Just provide the location, 'kay? And of course, y'know, drinks and the lot."

"Of course." Ichigo had glanced down at his notebook before urging the girl on. " 'lright, it's a deal. I'm gonna need more details though, like a rough estimate of how many are coming and stuff."

"Hn, let me think. Well, apart from the guys in the teams, I don't – "

"Teams?"

That's when Momo had utterly _panicked._ "Did I say teams? I meant, the band! Yeah, the band's gonna be there too. Being it all about tradition, y'know…"

"Rrrright." Ichigo had slurred the word, a taut crease on his brow. "Okay, so I'll give you a ring sometime through the week, just in case something occurs." His apprehension had soon gotten the best of him, setting off his elder bro instinct. "Don't overwork yourself with this though, seriously. You sound worn out, girl."

Obviously – as Ichigo should have learnt by now, but, oh well, you never really learn anything useful in college, d'ya? – telling a girl she's overreacting to something is just the right way to have her overreacting all the more; therefore Momo had gone off bitching like the Hellcat and the redhead had just stopped listening, even going as far as to hum a soft tune to himself while debating this party thing in his head.

Ichigo'd had a funny feeling about this right from the start. But c'mon, he'd eventually resolved, parties never did anyone harm, did they?

* * *

"What _the fuck _is this?"

Momo's fists clench and relax spasmodically as the girl nervously twists her hands behind her back. "This is… this is what it is, Berry, I mean, this is what I said it was going to be. A… party. A traditional college celebr – "

"This is Toshiro's fucking award ceremony! What the hell were you thinking, doing it here of all places?"

Ichigo can't believe it. Can't bloody believe it. What's more unbelievable, Momo dares pull an annoyed face, scoffing. "Well, how was I to know you'd take it so bad? You're claiming out loud all the sodding time you and Shiro-chan are fine, so what the heck are you complaining for? If you two really are fine as you say then I fail to see what the big deal is."

Crazy, this is completely crazy. Ichigo struggles for words, too overwhelmed by the sheer insanity of it all to come up with a proper reply. The loud bass of the music isn't helping conjuring deep thoughts, either. Eventually he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, sounding admittedly quite horrifyingly childish. "You lied to me on purpose. You lied 'cause you knew bloody well I'd never consent to host the party here had I known exactly what I was getting into!"

Momo never gets to defend herself. Partly, Ichigo assumes, because the freaking music's too loud to hear a goddamn thing; secondarily, they're brusquely disrupted by some panting, frenzied-looking girl popping out of nowhere between them.

"Hinamori-kun! So sorry to interrupt, but Kyoraku-san has hit the bottle again, and I think he's kind of coming onto Ukitake-sensei…"

"Damn old perv!" Turning to face Ichigo with a poor excuse for a rueful smile plastered on her delicate features, Toshiro's cousin bows quickly in apology. "I must go fix that."

"Tch. Too bad you can't fix this." The carrot-top grumbles, but Momo has already – eager much? – disappeared among the crowd. _Whoa, dumped by two cousins in a row. Way to go, mate!_ A sly voice suggests maliciously from Ichigo's very core. The boy shuts it up with a sharp tilt of his head.

That's when he sees it.

An arm. Sneaking around a ridiculously far-off Toshiro's middle, with such casual boldness Ichigo never knew anyone could muster around the icy prodigy.

… _wait, what the fuck?_

The club owner blinks rapidly to clear his slightly blurry view and focuses on the strange couple. Hold on, godawful choice of words. Yet that's exactly what they look like, Toshiro and his whatshisface, standing by the buffet with drinks in their hands, chatting and smiling and exchanging long, passionate glances… Okay, so maybe Ichigo is exaggerating the facts a little, but those two still look downright suspicious. Frowning, the redhead finds himself unable to tear his gaze away.

Even though he knows that's not fair.

Toshiro and he had not met once since their umpteenth last time, just about two months ago. Which was more than fine by the way. If only damn stupid Momo had stopped to consider…

Hell, he's being unfair again. Sighing irritably at himself, Ichigo shifts more comfortably against the counter and takes a long sip from his drink, still watching with rapt eyes as the white-haired shorty shakes hands and nods his thanks to everyone approaching him. For his part, Ichigo can't see what's there to fuss so much around somebody only 'cause they happen to be the captain of the Winter Tournament winner team. Then again, as Toshiro used to say all the time, Ichigo never really got the gist of soccer, nor wanted to for that matter.

_Used to__ say._ Crap, ain't this one depressing tense.

He's still sulking visibly around a sip of whatever alcoholic drink he's supposed to be having – the bitterness pooling in his throat makes it kind of hard to point out a specific taste – when an all-too-familiar spiky head turns up beside him, grinning maniacally.

"Kon-ba-wa, B'rry! How're ye 'njoying yerself? 'Tis a great great party li'l Momo got ere, ain't it?"

Upon taking in his friend's state of high, Ichigo decides against bothering with small talk. "Oi, Renji. Who's that?"

"Huh-huu?"

"That, next to Toshiro. The bloke with the long dark hair."

"Ha, pr'tty face!" Wobbling dangerously on his feet, Renji nods toward the man in question as if trying to collect his wits enough to spill the beans. "Can do. Can, can tell. Got an asswer fer ya right ere on meh, B'rry." The whoknowsforhowmuchlonger policeman slouches heavily on a stool, gulps audibly a couple of times then finally blurts out slurring the words: "Kusaka Sojiro, age twenty-four. Curr'ntly livin' with the lots at the flat. Took old baa-san's place. Hez actually pays tha rent, they say, n' kick meh out. Howz that fair, I say? Pr'tty facez ol' mate of Midget's, by tha way. Looks hot in a tracksuit, if ya ask meh."

Of all the things to process on the spot, Ichigo can't seem to do more than parroting dumbly. "Tracksuit?"

"Manz a sporty. Knows midget from high school." Renji shoots him what can only be defined as a knowing glance while adding: "Guess they had a lotta _trainin'_ together, huh?"

Ichigo scoffs.

That's all it takes to set the pineapple's endless teasing off, though. "Man, look at ya, yer bursting! 'Tis writt'n all on yer face ya wanna go kick the beauty's ass!"

"Grow up, you dick." The club owner smacks a light blow to the back of Renji's head, causing him to nearly tumble off the stool in a fit of coughy giggles. Chocolate brown eyes roll in their orbits before settling once more on the two oblivious men standing across the dance floor.

Damn whatshisname is handing Toshiro a glass, _does he mean to poison him? tch, like Toshiro's_ _so_ _dumb to fall for it, _which the soccer captain happily accepts, _whadda hell? _

Ichigo's knuckles turn dangerously white around his can. Eventually he can't help venting his spleen. "… what's with the cutesy little names anyway? He's not that awesome-looking, y'know."

Renji's roaring laughter is all the answer he gets, but it sounds like quite enough to aggravate his utter humiliation.

* * *

Most of the guests left about an hour ago. For as much as he's trying to tell himself he's not anxious about anything, Ichigo can't help but peer at his watch every three minutes, growing edgier by the second.

"Are you done yet? You'll dig holes in the carpet."

Rukia is at his side before he knows it, kicking him lightly in the ankles to stop him from dragging his heels. Ichigo casts her a half-mocking, half-wary glance. Things between the two of them have been… weird for lack of a better word since the girl discovered just how has his not-quite-relationship with Toshiro ended. Assuming it really has ended, that is – oh, shit, this is exactly the kind of thought he should _not_ be entertaining.

"Loosen up, they're going. Look." Rukia nods lightly in Toshiro's general direction. The small youth has stopped by the wardrobe to collect his belongings, promptly followed by a very pissed Renji, an ill-looking Izuru, a gleeful Momo surrounded by few guys from the soccer team _and_ of course sodding whatshisfaceagain.

Ichigo grumbles his way around a feeble, "dunno what you're talking about" Rukia doesn't even pretend to swallow.

"Niiiiiiice parta, B'rry-chan! Les's do this again s'time, yeah?"

The carrot-top wriggles to get Renji off of him. Hell, ain't the idiot heavy. "You head straight home and for god's sake, have someone else drive. Ya hear me, prick?" Ichigo sighs at the vague assertion the other redhead moans on his way out.

"Don't worry. I'm the designated driver for the night."

Chills run down his spine at the sound of a foreign velvety voice. _This…_

Whatshisface smirks charmingly while extending his right hand. "I don't believe we were introduced. Name's Kusaka Sojiro. I'm Toshiro and the others' new flatmate. It's nice to meet you."

For the longest of seconds, Ichigo is positive he's going to choke on his own spit. Words get caught in his throat as he repeatedly wets his lips, stalling. Okay, so how dares the fucker even speak to him in the first place? The med student takes his utmost annoyance out on himself, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. His nibbling gets all the more frantic as Toshiro joins the merry party in the doorway, his gorgeous features twisted in an inquisitive frown. "You too." Ichigo spits at last while insistently seeking the captain's gaze – which is drifting from corner to corner without ever settling directly on him.

A sharp nudging in his ribs shakes him out of his daydream. _Huh?_ Rukia shoots him a pointed glare. _What now?_ Ichigo's uncomprehending scowl draws an exasperated groan from the small ravenhead. "His name is Kurosaki, and even if he can't seem to recall his manners at the moment, I assure you he's a nice guy."

It takes Ichigo several moments to process just what's happened and who's Rukia talking to. Much to his sheer mortification, Kusaka doesn't miss a beat. "Kurosaki? You are the owner of this place?" The jerk all but _beams._ "Brilliant! I had a great time tonight. Guess you're the one to thank for that."

Ichigo just cannot hold it in. "Yeah, I sort of noticed you did. Won't take credit for that though." Rukia stamps hard on his right foot. _Damnit, damn, I get it!_ As if Toshiro's scorching glare wasn't enough admonishment already. _At least I got him to look at me._ Ichigo grudgingly extends his own hand to finally shake Kusaka's awaiting one. "So, well, goodnight. Drive, huh, safe."

Pretty face – why _the_ _hell_ are Renji's drunken words flooding back to his memory now? – smiles politely, looking completely unfazed by the carrot-top's obvious spite. "Sure. It was a pleasure, Kurosaki-san."

The little group strolls in a pissed herd toward the exit. Ichigo sees his friends out, spreading words of caution and reproach for the better-off to mind – which excludes his best mates, given that Izuru doesn't even recognize him as he passes him by and Momo practically sneaks under his nose in shame.

Toshiro leaves last. His vague nod goodbye, however, is nowhere near enough to satisfy Ichigo. _Like hell you're gettin' away like that, beauty. _

"Congrats. For, you know, the tournament."

Toshiro doesn't really stop his pacing, just slows down a fraction. "Thank you."

His voice is husky, and wary, and _husky, was it always so husky?_ A surge of raw desire runs through Ichigo's body, sending pleasant hot-cold shivers down his spine. "Happy birthday." He blurts out once the prodigy has already crossed the threshold. And, _gods_, how Toshiro turns to look at him. _Fuck._ It makes Ichigo's knees turn into bloody jelly. "If belatedly."

This is it. These are the first words they've exchanged since that infamous mid-December last time, and judging by the way Toshiro's eyes widen only to narrow menacingly a moment later, there's not going to be much talking between the two of them before long.

Ichigo and Rukia are left behind as the cherished captain turns on his heels and hurries to catch up with the others. _Tch. Couldn't be bothered with a comeback, huh? _

"Well, way to – "

"Not another word!" The redhead snaps before clasping a hand over Rukia's mouth for good measure. "Help me clean this mess up instead?" He ventures, cocking his head to point at the much evident effects of the ruthless devastation of his club.

The little ravenhead snatches her friend's hand away, not before biting down on it lightly. "Don't you have someone to do it for you? Like contract cleaners, or something."

"Hey, family-owned business here." Ichigo shrugs, then allows a goofy grin to stretch his lips. "Pretty please?"

Rukia's gaze drifts from Ichigo to the ravaged dance floor as if trying to calculate the pros and cons of the man's offer. Suddenly a bright glint passes through her eyes, like a mischievous tinge of something the club owner can't quite put his finger on, but instantly _dreads._ "Fine. Although since we've got a long, boring time ahead of us, I demand my clean-up fairytale."

_Fairy… oh, gods. _"I know nothing of that bullshit."

Apparently, Ichigo's pitiful whine all but fuels the devilish girl's insane enthusiasm. "Don't worry, I'll help." She pats him on the back in what can only be described as a condescending manner. "For instance, how does the tale of 'How Prince Ginger Managed To Royally Screw Up His Steamy Relationship With Snow White' sound to you?" An innocent batting of eyelashes.

Ichigo will _so_ have to talk his father into hiring a clean-up crew one of these days.

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I seem to take a liking on drunk Renji... heh heh.

**So, little IchiHitsu interaction in this chap - I know, I'm evil, right? I assure you I'm working steadily on this though, so have no fear!, IchiHitsu moments are coming up. =D Since this is going to be it for 2010, however: HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone! Hope you'll have fun on New Year's Eve (more than Ichigo and Toshiro did xD) and start off on the right foot as January dawns. =3**

**To FullMetalKeyblade-13, zx14ninja and JacinthX: thank you so much, your reviews were wonderful *_* . You wouldn't believe how much pleasure I take in reading your comments, seriously.**

**As for my friend KristinE: each and every chapter from now on will be dedicated to you... that is, unless you piss me off for some reason ù_ù (:p). Now, your fingers were itching to review? Time ta scratch 'em, innit? =D**


	13. Second

**Dedicated to my darling Kristine for her birthday! *w* Don't let anyone bring you down, girl. You're awesome. =3**

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"Are you stalling?

"I… don't know. It's pretty sudden."

Yoruichi-sensei rests her chin on her palms, stretching expectantly across the desktop. "How about I give you some time to think this over and you come back to my office with an answer… let's make it, by the end of the week?"

"That would be – " _Wait, it's a Wednesday today. Very freakin' generous!_ " – much appreciated. Thank you, sensei." Toshiro can do little other than bow respectfully, despite his vivid annoyance at the woman's tricks. _Guess you don't make academic dean for nothing. _

"I will see you then. But I would beg you to consider something, Hitsugaya-taichou." The tinge of pure, unadulterated sarcasm in the tanned woman's voice as she addresses him is not lost on the little prodigy. "That'd be, if you need to think so hard over such a unique opportunity, then maybe you're not the right man to catch it."

Toshiro stops dead in his tracks, a hand already on the doorknob. "Do you mean there are other qualified candidates?"

The professor's disbelieving chuckle sounds somewhat offending. "Of course there are. Don't ever make the mistake to overestimate yourself, _taichou._"

Here it goes again, the scornful tone. Toshiro briefly considers asking for clarification, but eventually decides against it and takes his leave with merely a nod of acknowledgement.

Damned woman. Even back when she was just his athletic trainer, Shihoin Yoruichi had the peculiar ability to make him feel uncomfortable like no one else could. When Toshiro chose soccer over athletic – he'd been top student in just about every class, so it was only a matter of preference what he was going to be after graduating – the woman had smiled in mockery and made some nasty comment about men who wasted their lives running after a ball just to make easy money. Her low consideration doesn't appear to have altered through the years, Toshiro muses while pacing down the desert hallways of the P.E. department.

He's crossing at the intersection with the Community Medicine division when he hears it.

"Please, cheer up, Kurosaki-san. I trust you know it was not my intention to discourage you."

"I got you perfectly, Ukitake-sensei. That's kind of the point. But please, don't let me interfere with your morning. Sure you've got somewhere to be at this very moment."

A tall, long-haired man in a white gown walks out of a classroom, a somewhat distressed expression on his pale yet attractive face. "Alright. But do not hesitate to come see me if you ever need help, understood?"

The voice coming from inside the classroom is – _oh, great!_ – a very familiar one. Toshiro wrinkles his nose, but cannot help slowing down his pace whilst sliding down the corridor to keep track of the conversation.

"Yeah, I will. Thanks a lot."

The tall man – presumably some medic from the department – moves too quickly for Toshiro to even think of getting out of his way; they bump into each other, the doctor tripping and staggering to find a handhold that Toshiro eventually provides by steadying the other man in his arms.

"Watch out! Are you okay?"

"I – I think so. Sorry." The snowy-haired medic straightens his back, a tiny smile arching thin lips. "A friend of mine teases me all the time about the way I walk. He says I've got two left feet, and that does not apply to dancing only." The man cocks his head to the side, white bangs falling over his gentle brown eyes. "I didn't crush you with my weight, did I?"

_Weight? This guy's practically a feather._ Toshiro smiles back politely. "Not at all. In fact – "

"Ukitake-sensei? All right ther…"

Ichigo never gets to finish his sentence. Then again, Toshiro's heart skips a beat (_or two, or three_), so they're just even.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you for your concern, Kurosaki." Blissfully oblivious to the change of atmosphere, the medic straightens his gown and gives both youths a discreet wave goodbye. Or so Toshiro presumes. He's not really paying attention anymore, his entire being drawn to the carrot-top like a moth to the flame.

The first thing he notices about Ichigo is how utterly worn out he looks – that is, before the typical aloof face is set in place to mask most genuine signs of apprehension. That something is troubling him, though, becomes apparent as he saunters toward one of the windows (skilfully avoiding Toshiro's gaze all the while, mind you) and all but slouches down on the sill, his chin rested on the cold marble.

Well, isn't this a pitiful display. For a moment the soccer captain is actually tempted to point it out, the mortifying desolation of the sight he's forced to behold, but that thought is replaced soon enough by a different, even less pleasant urgency. "What the hell is that?"

'Cause it can't be what it looks like. Can't be that Ichigo, _Ichigo_ is really rolling a, _is that shit_ _tobacco or…?_ "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Casting all reservations aside, Toshiro rushes to peek over the redhead's shoulder to test his theory.

Ichigo stiffens so suddenly it feels like a gelid breeze has begun to flow off his body, blowing between them and chilling everything it touches. "What does it look like to you?"

A sharp crease wrinkles Toshiro's brow as he inhales deeply. "This shit stinks. It's weed, isn't it?" He doesn't pause to wait for an answer. "You – You're rolling a joint in the middle of a soddin' corridor!"

"Three cheers for Captain Obvious."

Okay, that's it. Common youngster stupidity and petty acts of rebellion he can stand – it's really times like these Toshiro loves to mark the age difference between dumb berry and himself – but being addressed in such a condescending tone when he's clearly not the giant asshole here, that shall not pass. The whiz kid outstretches his palm, tapping impatiently his foot on the ground to make a point. "Give it here. I won't have you dealing that crap."

Oddly enough, Ichigo isn't showing the slightest signs of annoyance. His long fingers – those same fingers Toshiro recalls drumming, playing, dancing on his body as to make the best music ever, but, _gods_, he's _not_ going over that right now – move swiftly to fold the cigarette paper, with smooth, precise gestures that have Toshiro wondering. "Why not?"

"You want the bloody list?" The soccer captain stares agape before realizing Ichigo is not doing a thing to prevent him from speaking. "First, we're indoor, and smoke's forbidden; secondarily, this is the Medicine department and _you_ are a doctor for crying out loud! Thirdly – "

"Tut-tut, genius. You go wrong. Try again." The ginger-head's next words are mumbled around the makeshift cigarette, so Toshiro can bring himself to believe he misheard. "Am not a doctor, nor am I gonna be anytime soon."

"What is this supposed to mean?"

Ichigo takes his sweet time toying with a lighter he produced from his pocket. "You've met Ukitake-sensei, my lab supervisor." He snorts at last, then takes a deep lungful of _whatever the fuck_ _is that thing in his cig._ "Man's an angel, so I guess that's why the faculty council picked him for the job."

Toshiro is not listening closely; he's all but drinking in each and every word coming out of is mate's mouth. It doesn't help that Ichigo seems to consider speaking godawfully slowly as an amusing way to irk him, though.

"He says if I don't quit slacking off, I'm out of the programme." The carrot-top blurts out eventually, staring through the glass at who-knows-what with a transfixed look on his face. "And if I get kicked out of the programme, all my chances to graduate within the year go flying off the window." Ichigo waves with the hand holding his joint to depict the metaphorical launch in the air, a bitter half-smile stretching his lips. "How does that sound?"

It takes Toshiro several moments to realize his own body is quivering with indignation. "To me, it sounds like you're being a pathetic jerk." The prodigy spits at last, his voice growing thinner as boiling anger rises. Seriously, is this what it's all about? What's had Ichigo looking so downright defeated? It can't be right. Toshiro remembers the redhead ditching even him on occasion to lock himself up in his room and spend the evening bent over some research project or another. Which the soccer captain was never too displeased with, for the record. It used to make him feel proud, what great dedication Ichigo put in his job. "What the hell are you slacking off for to begin with? You've worked hard to get in the damned programme, I – " A puff of smoke whirls before furiously sparkling teal eyes, the foul smell adding up to Toshiro's aggravation. Blinded by outrage, he tugs pretty viciously at the med student's right arm. "Put that fucking fag off and listen to me!"

"I don't have to!" As he struggles to snatch his wrist out of the whiz kid's iron grip, Ichigo lets loose. "Okay? I. Don't. Have. To. Listen to you, or talk to you or even bear your presence any freaking longer." The redhead's efforts to break free cause his half smoked cigarette to drop on the ground. "I'm not kidding, Toshiro, let me go."

"I wanna help! Just… just give me a reason why and I will."

Their eyes meet for what must be the very first time in… well, ages. Since his congratulations party, most likely. _Gods, some night that was._ Toshiro nibbles on his lower lip in distress, and he hates himself for this, goddamnit, but there's no way he can pretend like Ichigo's gaze (as much as his troubles and _just_ _about everything about the guy, really_) isn't affecting him.

"Help?" The taller man's eyes narrow as he snorts derisively. "No offence, brain boy, but what would you know of advanced reconstructive surgery that I might not?"

Now Toshiro is aware that his attempts are getting desperate, yet he's not going to give up just yet. "For one, I know how to keep concentrated on my goal and not go lazy on my work." He has the decency to at least bow his head and look vaguely embarrassed while carrying on: "That, and I topped all my general medicine classes."

Mockery sounds loud and clear in the med student's reply. "Right. Please, don't take it bad." Ichigo clicks his tongue before turning on his heels. "Sayonara."

"I'm leaving."

The redhead freezes on the spot. Toshiro takes it he's paying attention. "Just this morning I was offered a two-years-termed signing by a bush league European team. It seems that some talent scout of theirs had heard about me and came to see me play during the Winter Tournament."

His announcement is met with lasting silence. That is, until Ichigo turns just enough to glance at the small prodigy over his shoulder. "Well. Good for you."

_Tch._ Toshiro is almost sure he heard correctly this time – there undoubtedly was a tinge of hurt in his former lover's voice. "Idiot." He grumbles, more to himself than anything, then crosses his arms over his chest, trying to look perfectly in control of the situation. _Fat chance._ "Give me a reason to stay and I will."

Alright: with that he's not expecting Ichigo to fall on his knees and beg him to reconsider leaving him behind, but… but… _well, that _would_ be sweet._ His delusional hopes are crushed the moment Ichigo spins to look him straight in the eye, his brow furrowed aggressively. "I'm giving you nothing, what you do with your life is none of my business." The carrot-top lets out a disbelieving snort. To Toshiro, it feels like being shot with a poisoned dart. "Geez, what were you expecting? I'm risking getting my ass thrown out of the university and all you can do is rubbing how bloody brilliant your future's gonna be in my face. So sorry if I can't sympathize with that!"

The dart is planted right across his heart, and damn him if it doesn't sting like fuck. Toshiro blinks ever so slowly, trying to suppress the sudden urge to be sick all over the floor. His pulse throbs in his temples, making him feel sort of light-headed, as he stumbles clumsily on the right words to say – too bad he trips, falls over and, here, they're bygone, and all that's left are wrong, terribly wrong words. "What about us?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He shouldn't, shouldn't have, shouldn't have said it.

Ichigo stomps heavily toward him._ Shouldn't… he…_ The words are laced with fury and shock and a dull old ache that digs, digs, digs every minute a deeper hole for them to bury all leftovers of friendship, love, trust. "You called off any 'us' that might have been the moment you decided sex alone was no longer enough and that I couldn't possibly have deeper feelings for you either."

_Shouldn't… damn._

Ichigo is close, a lot closer than he'd need in order to make a blasted point, if that's what he's trying to achieve. "Which – you know what? You were right, I have not."

His voice sounds metallic, like steel, a steely robotic voice. "Good luck in Europe. See you on some sports newspaper front-page, I guess."

Toshiro bathes in the cold waves of spite radiating off the other's entire persona. One more gust of chilling air and Ichigo is walking away, strolling down the hallway and disappearing, like a dreamland phantom or some cruel trick of the mind. _My, that sounds fitting. _Was that thing between the two of them ever anything other than some wicked trick his mind had been playing on him? – Toshiro wonders. Whatever the case, it's over now.

The dart stings in his chest, the poison runs in his veins, but there are no more leftovers to bury. They're long gone, Ichigo and himself – no matter how desperate his pursuit may get. They won't be found again.

Toshiro puts off the discarded joint with his heel and heads home without looking back once.

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"Well?"

Sojiro is at his throat the exact moment Toshiro kicks the door closed behind him. "Hn?"

The dark-haired youth tugs at the front of his friend's sweatshirt in anticipation. "How did it go?"

Toshiro must assume his brain process was unsettled by the unforeseen tête-à-tête with a certain redhead, because he can't for the life of him understand a word his new flatmate is saying. "What are you on about?"

Here's when Kusaka frowns, looking genuinely lost. "Wasn't your meeting with Shihoin-sensei scheduled for today?"

_Oh. Right, that._ "Yeah. Yes, it was."

"So? Don't keep me on tenterhooks, or I might just have to coax the words out of you!"

Toshiro walks further into the apartment, Sojiro tailing him. "I guess you could say it went fairly well." The white-haired athlete shrugs nonchalantly while taking off his jacket, which he hangs onto the hallstand. "Some European team or another has offered me a two-years-termed signing. Effective immediately."

A telltale hitch of breath testifies to Sojiro's astonishment. "And you call that going 'fairly well'? This is godawesome news, Toshiro! Congratulations!"

The small captain finds himself in the taller athlete's vice grip, choking for the strength of it. Just as he's about to shove him away Sojiro withdraws on his own accord, a taut crease on his brow. "Wait. I know that look." He objects, then, upon further investigating Toshiro's face, gives a horrified shriek. "You're _not_ considering turning down the offer, are you? !"

Sure enough, Toshiro is considering it. After all, two years is a freaking long time, Europe is ridiculously far away and he's never even played at a professional level before. But none of this would be enough restraint, if only… _Sod it. Nothing's holding you back. This is the chance of a lifetime and you're not throwing it away because of some twisted not-quite-relationship_ _that's_ _doomed_ _to_ _failure anyway,_ his inner talking cricket bitches. And Toshiro figures one can't really argue with subconscious animals.

"Why would I? Of course I'm accepting. Shihoin-sensei will hear from me before the week is over."

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**Okay, I need to get this out before Krstine goes to bed :p so I don't have the time to thank everyone who reviewed properly right now, but I swear I revel in each and every of your words, and I'm so, so very grateful *w* . Just, thanks. I wouldn't be here were it not for amazing people like you!**

**Ah, as the author I feel compelled to take some distance from Ichigo's actions: smoking is bad enough, smoking weed is _far _worse. Do keep it in mind, dudes! You're way better than that shit. **

**Next chap won't take too long ;-)**

**Hope your 2011 started off on the right foot! :D**


	14. Third

**Please, all of you read the A/N at the bottom. =) Thanks.**

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Ichigo can hear his own pulse racing in his temples as all the blood travels from his head to some unidentified place in the pit of his stomach, leaving behind a trail of chilling discomfort in its wake. "Toshiro is _what_ in _what?_"

Rukia's voice sounds sharp as a razor on the other end of the line. "Stop being a jerk, you heard me perfectly. Now bring your sorry ass here this instant, or else I'll come and drag you myself."

_Click._

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Ichigo has lost count of how many times he's pushed the entrance doors of the local hospital since freshman year. He's positive they never felt so heavy though, nor the white neon lights so blinding. By the time he reaches the orthopaedic ward to join Rukia and the others, his legs have started to fail him and his vision's going blurry.

"About damn time you made it. He's in there."

"Did he… ask for me?"

"Tch. You wish."

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Ichigo is more than determined to become a doctor someday in the near future, a good doctor. Yet he's always hated hospital rooms with every single bone in his body. "Hey."

Toshiro looks ridiculously white. Not just pale – that he customarily is, they haven't taken on calling him Snow White for nothing – but utterly, utterly white. White his hair, white his sheets, white the bandages around his plastered arm and leg and _what_ _the_ _fuck_ _has_ _happened,_ _what_ _did_ _they_ _do to him, how has…_ "Hey."

His voice cracks due to the prolonged silence, but there's underlying scorn in it that has Ichigo feeling somewhat relieved. The carrot-top moves clumsily around the tiny single room before finally resolving to slump down on a chair next to the patient's bed. "How are you?"

For a minute, if a short one, Toshiro actually looks at him. As in, really, really _looks._ "Like someone whose career was spoiled for good because of a goddamn accident." The footballer lets out in a quiet snort, teal eyes fleeing brown ones at last. "Thanks for asking."

Such bitter sarcasm makes him frown. True, Ichigo never got football, but he is fairly sure the little prodigy knows his way around a soccer ball. "Your career was not spoiled. You're an amazing player."

"Here? Maybe. In Europe? Not a chance." The white, desperately white head turns slowly on the pillow. "You must be pleased."

Those words sink in hard. Ichigo can't help the sputtering in his voice as he retorts, back going rigid against his seat. "Do you think I enjoy seeing you like this? For Christ's sake, Toshiro, I…!"

"I meant your job. 'm told you've been doing wonders for that research your department was working on." Toshiro explains, drawling syllable after syllable in a feeble monotone. Even though his eyes have not settled directly on Ichigo again, the redhead can tell they're lacking their usual sparkle. That challenging, fiery, untamed glint of arrogance that's always made defying the smart shorty purely inebriating – where has it gone to? A low hiss escapes past Toshiro's lips as he turns ever so slowly under the sheets. "Glad to hear it."

Ichigo gulps. There's not much more he can do with his throat tightening spasmodically at the mere sight of aquamarine eyes boring into his own before fluttering shut, peaceful and breathtakingly beautiful. "Why are you here?"

He chokes on his words, which come out matter-of-factly strained. Tilting his head to face Ichigo – who doesn't miss the pained grimace even the tiniest shifting causes to appear on the prodigy's features – Toshiro cracks one eye open and snorts derisively. "Not many places I could be with two broken limbs, you know."

"Don't do this." Ichigo deadpans quietly. It's bad enough having to stay back and watch _him_ hurting, enduring all the helplessness, without… The carrot-top clenches his fists. "I meant why did you choose to travel all the way here instead of getting hospitalized in whatever part of Europe you were at the time."

Silence. Then Toshiro huffs and attempts to shrug nonchalantly, albeit failing due to the restraining plaster keeping his right arm in place. "The sporting year went pretty bad. My team is struggling to find a legal way to break our contract before its term." Once again, the words leaving his mouth sound devoid of any emotion, but Ichigo knows better. "I thought I'd just make it easier on them by not being around."

"I've missed you."

_Ha._ There it is, the telltale flickering of fire in those turquoise orbs. Ichigo knew that pushing the right button would spark a reaction. "Didn't exactly leave without warning." Toshiro grumbles, obviously torn between acting cool and coaxing the answers he wants. It's amazing how well has Ichigo come to read his mate's every expression by now.

Too bad that particular ability didn't exactly spare him the pain of seeing him go. "You call pouring it all out on me as we passed by each other in a hallway a _warning? _I thought you were shitting me!"

Toshiro needn't put much effort into destroying the other's sensible enough objection. "We threw a farewell party. You didn't show up."

_Ack._ Ichigo bites the inside of his cheek. "Yeah. I… don't do well with farewells."

For some reason, the injured whiz kid looks kind of amused by the answer. It's almost like, _like_ _he_ _had seen it coming. Guess the mind reading thing is mutual after all. _Toshiro casts him a sidelong secretive glance, and Ichigo finds himself shuddering at the intensity of it. Their complicity… feels like it's slowly coming back to the surface. "Guess that's why we never really had a closure, nh?" A tired half-smile and the athlete cocks his head to the opposite side, declaring the conversation over with his body language even before stating it out loud for good measure. "I need rest now."

Ichigo wonders briefly whether his mouth will ever cease to feel this impossibly dry. "Don't push me away." He blurts out without really thinking. As words fail him, he bends over the lithe, white form on the bed, holding his breath while letting his hand ghost clumsily above the sheets, never gathering enough courage to actually touch…

Toshiro's eyelids flutter and Ichigo stills all movements. Their faces are mere inches apart, so when the patient murmurs he can feel it right across his mouth. "I'm not. I'm just sleepy."

Alright, that's it. Drift caught. Biting on his bottom lip to keep in any sound of annoyance that's likely to escape, Ichigo straightens his back and stands up. He won't resign to leave without establishing some sort of contact between the two of them, though, so he lets his eyes scan the quiet figure expectantly. Toshiro's right side is totally insensitive because of the plaster, and his left hand is buried under the covers, which makes it kind of odd because, really, what's the point in forcing his arm out of its obviously comfortable safe place just out of a whim? Frustrated beyond belief, Ichigo settles for awkwardly patting the boy's good shoulder in a hopefully-more-comforting-and-less-idiotic-than-it-feels gesture. "Right. Get well."

No reaction._ Brilliant. _The med student walks out.

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"How long has he been back?"

…

"How _long_, Rukia?"

Ichigo is trembling so hard his teeth clash. The dark-haired girl bows her head to avoid the chocolate brown piercing stare. "Three weeks. And a half."

It's bloody cold in the lounge room, Ichigo tells himself to justify the insane quivering of his tense shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why didn't we, Renji?" Rukia's head jerks just as sharply as her words resound. There's an aura of chilling rage threatening to burst about her, the carrot-top can tell – the young Kuchiki never seemed to cope well with him and Toshiro being involved. "Maybe 'cause we had no idea how you'd react, or even if you'd still care after all this time?"

_They_ _what? !_ Stunned brown eyes move from the little ravenhead to the tall policeman standing by, finding traces of the same guilty resentment on both faces. "You gotta be kidding me." Ichigo exhales, too dumbfounded to even get mad at them. Hell, what, _what_, where the fuck have they been for the past three years? His friends can't possibly believe he'd… "Just so you know, I never stopped caring for him."

Sarcasm drips like liquid poison from every word Rukia utters, her arms folded condescendingly over her chest. "Well, perhaps if you were a little more transparent about your feelings we wouldn't have to guess every time."

At first he can't put his finger on it. Then a vague sensation starts to run in little shivers down his backbone. The feeling of something amiss. Why doesn't this sound new? Ichigo frowns._ Feels like_ _someone said the very same thing before_ - it hits him. Momo accused him of not being honest back at Toshiro's award ceremony, in friggin' January. Ichigo's scowl deepens all the more at the disturbing memory. Shit, it's been an awful lot of time and he's still expected to justify his actions. That is hardly fair. "What's it to you how I feel anyway?"

Before Ichigo can realize just how furious has his slip made Rukia, Renji moves to get a hold on the fiery-tempered girl's arms and keep her restrained. "Alright, cool down!"

That's, Ichigo muses, Abarai, Local Hero for you.

Once the dark-haired fury is tamed, the tattooed man turns his focus on the med student. "You two are both our friends, Berry. And if Toshiro and you break up or split up or whatever the hell you wanna call it as to not make it sound like you were ever a couple, that makes it our business." Renji huffs irritably. "Geez, it doesn't take a genius to do the math here."

"You and Toshiro were together?"

Oh, for Heaven's sake. Ichigo's very _body_ has come to know that voice. _So sleek and snake-ish._ "What's he doing here?"

Rukia glares pointedly at him, then shoots Kusaka a sickeningly approving glance. "_He_ has been looking after Toshiro ever since the boy climbed off his plane." The girl grimaces upon going over the words in her head. "Or rather, was carried to get off it."

Ichigo is fairly sure his brain only collected half the info conveyed in the message, but it's more than enough to set his anger boiling. "Don't you dare patronize me, Rukia! It's your fault that beside Toshiro couldn't be me in the first place."

Burying his hands inside his pockets, he gives one last look around – taking in Renji's downcast face, _clearly the poor bloke can't decide whose side to be on_ – and strolls down the hallway, heading toward the exit. "I'm goin' for a walk." He mutters grumpily, though not so much as to not announce his – momentary, mind you – departure.

Sure he was not expecting the sodding whatshisface to… "Would you mind me joining?"

The boldness! Kusaka smiles sweetly. Ichigo grunts. "Suit yourself."

Whoever made public soil public, may 'em be damned.

* * *

Standing on the porch, arms clung tightly around himself as a shelter from the cool breeze, Ichigo lets out a low hiss and shivers.

"I agree. It's still pretty bitter for a mid-spring day." Kusaka smirks somewhat condescendingly.

_Tch. The witty jackass._ But two can play this game, the carrot-top muses."I didn't say a thing. Besides, how about we skip the whole weather chit-chat bullshit and jump onto what you really wanted to talk to me about?"

Kusaka takes a couple uncertain steps to his left, then stops upon realizing Ichigo is not following. "Somehow I've got the feeling saying that you dislike me would be making an understatement." That freaking patronizing smile doesn't falter the tiniest bit. "I wonder why?"

Ichigo is cut off before he has the chance to reply. Not that he was going to anyway. "Nevermind. Whatever you're thinking, you're off the track." Kusaka paces aimlessly around, hands entwined behind his back in an apparent casual fashion. His amethyst eyes don't cease for a moment to scrutinize the redhead with predatory hauteur, though. "But I didn't join you to explain myself or my relation with Toshiro. If anything, I'm under the impression you'd need someone to explain yours to you." The aforementioned shit-eater grin widens.

… _!_

Halting on the edge of the porch and raising his head to the sky, Toshiro's old friend takes on a dreamy expression while contemplating the clouds steadily rolling. Ichigo can't even begin to put in words how utterly irritating this attitude – "Our common friend is to make a very important decision. Much more important than any petty sentimental issue could ever be."

_Huh?_ A taut scowl creases the med student's brow. "What are you talking about?"

Kusaka sneaks him a somewhat incredulous glance, which quickly turns into a satisfied, fake innocent smile. "I guess you'll know when it happens."

"Oi!" Ichigo calls after the man who's climbed down the few steps at the entrance, seemingly heading toward the exit of the hospital compound. _Not so fast, pretty face!_ "You joined me out here only to talk in bloody riddles?"

Sojiro stops some paces away from the ginger-head, keeping his back turned. "Let's just say, I wanted to check something." He leers eventually, casting the other man a pointed look over his shoulder. "It was nice to hang out with you, Kurosaki-kun." With that he's off.

Ichigo keeps his stare glued to the much loathed silhouette till it disappears on the horizon, hating the feeling of being left behind. Was the bastard even making sense before or had he just been trying to fuck with his head? – the med student briefly wonders, before shrugging it off, deciding to file it under 'nowhere-near-as-important-as-Toshiro' and turning on his heels to get his arse back inside the hospital.

By his mate's side. Where he belongs.

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**First, I'd like to say I'm sorry if my update speed has been decreasing as of late =_= I happen to be awfully busy with university. January and February are going to be difficult months, but!, from March on I should have a lot more spare time :D and I swear all of my energies will be put into pleasing and worshipping my amazing, amazing readers. *w***

**That said, I've got a request for all of you, silent "Happy Ending" fans: since it's such a bad moment for me to be thinking of fanfictions, I NEED to know exactly for the sake of how many people I'm working here. By that I mean absolutely no disrespect whatsoever for all the awesome girls who's reviewed so far (it's because of you I'm carrying on in the first place ^_^), but I know for sure a lot more people are reading this story than my reviews page cares to show, so, take this as a plea for my part: i****f you're reading this, click the review button and leave me a trace of your visit. Doesn't matter if you don't know what to write, or your English is not very good (mine isn't either xD): whatever the case, please, just let me know you're there and you wish for me to keep on updating. Thank you all in advance. *_***

**To Kristine (:3), BreathexFreely, FullmetaKeyBlade-13 and JyacinthX who took the time to review last chapter: how do you like white chocolate? 'Cause I've got plenty in my Christmas stocking and I wish I could send it all to you to express my endless gratitude! *w* [I bet you all were expecting to read of the departure scene or the long agony Ichigo and Toshiro were forced to endure while apart... and what do I do? Skip the whole thing and jump to the get-together! Lemme know whether this decision left you disappointed.] **

**Next chapter I'm currently working on: it WILL take a while, but it's coming around. =) **


	15. Fourth

**Okay, this chap took ages but turned out pretty long, so, yeah, enjoy. =) No A/N at the bottom this once, or your eyes will be bloodshot by the time you reach the end. xD Thanks everyone who reviewed, I'm devotely and forever yours. **

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_**D**ay **1**_

Light. Ominously blinding light seeping through the window, making his eyelids hurt with the effort to stay screwed shut and shelter sensitive turquoise orbs from the merciless aggression.

"Hey, you awake?"

Toshiro turns his head slowly. Damn, it feels so heavy, and his temples are throbbing – a drum rhythm squeezing his brains tight in a the hold of a dull, pressing ache.

"Don't fret now, or they'll have to put you out again."

_Put__ me…?_ Frowning in confusion, Toshiro discovers soon enough, does no good for his raging migraine.

Ichigo, whose voice is gradually lulling him back into the world of the living, seems to notice and catch on his status immediately. "The nurse mentioned you were likely to wake up in a painkillers-induced haze, so just stay put and rest, okay?"

That option holds no appealing whatsoever to him, as Toshiro expresses in an eloquent grunt. Heck, if he _rests_ a bit more he'll lose his limbs for lack of activity. Stupid bed and stupid doctors. Stupid goddamn plaster, most of all.

As if reading his very mind, Ichigo snorts a quiet laughter. "Get that pout off your face, that's just what you get for being a restless whiney baby." His tone takes on a tinge of amusement as the carrot-top goes on. "What were you thinking, trying to climb off the bed on your own with your arm and leg immobilized?"

Well, it does sound a bit lame when you put it this – Toshiro's scowl deepens. Like hell he's conceding the infuriating redhead a point. Why the hell is he here by the way? And how does he know of his little… incident? Quickly deciding against opening his eyes, the patient turns his head to the side Ichigo's presumably on. "It was hot and the damn nurse wouldn't come no matter how many times I rang the bell. What's a man supposed to do to have a little fresh air in this place?"

The bite in his tone has Ichigo chuckling with gusto. The aggravation! Now he's really, really missing having his right arm in perfect, punch-the-idiot-in-the-face conditions. "What's so funny? You're a doctor too, you're supposed to feel insulted." Frustrated at both the other's unresponsiveness and his own state of self-imposed sightlessness, Toshiro groans. "And for Lord's sake, pull down the bloody blinds. Whatever it is your colleagues gave me, it's making my head hurt like a bitch."

The creaking sound of a chair sliding on the tiled floor comes as unbelievably comforting despite the lack of finesse in Ichigo's abrupt standing. _Well, can only ask so much of the guy, can you?_ Toshiro muses, prone to indulgence, while the redhead is heard walking toward the window to oblige him.

"What a foul mouth you got yourself in Europe, mate. To think you used to look down on Renji and I when we threw shit in each other's face 'cause your little ears were so sensitive you couldn't stand how bad-mouthed we were!" A sharp tug and, thank God, the obnoxious sunlight is dimmed. Toshiro cracks his eyes open cautiously, in time to see an Ichigo-shaped ghost walking back to his bedside, a foolish grin stretching his lips.

"Guess you've returned a lil'… worldlier, haven't ya?"

Something in the way those words leave the redhead's mouth causes an angry pink flush to creep over Toshiro's neck and face. Now, how come Ichigo's got the unique ability to make even the most casual of comments sound lewd and, and, and ambiguous? Pale cheeks grow scarlet as the med student props down on the chair again, goofy smile still in place.

"Ha, so I gotcha here, huh? You're blushing like a little girl. Say then, what kind of life-altering perversion was our Snow White met with abroad, when far from her brave-hearted prince?"

Much to his horror, Toshiro can feel the hot flush spread all over his scalp. _Is he – what's_ _he…?_ Flustered and utterly humiliated, the footballer clenches his fists into balls of tension under the sheets, subconsciously seeking for physical outlet since his emotional balance is threatening to fail him. "No prince. No perversion." He grumbles in the pillow, eyes darting nervously to escape the oh-so-very-amused scrutiny of hazel eyes. No such luck, for that matter. _Oh, well._ Guess resorting to good old names-calling can do no harm, right? "You're a git, Kurosaki." There you go, a handy statement for every occasion.

Too bad the effect of a punch line tends to wear off when you've been abusing it. Ichigo chortles happily, totally unaffected, and the small boy in the bed realizes he's got to stop him before he lets his idiocy run free and wild.

"I love it when you talk dirt – "

"What's with all the friendliness anyway? Did you think we were just going to pick up where we left off?"

Ouch. The moment the words leave his mouth Toshiro regrets them already, but there's little he can do now to wipe off the sudden graveness of Ichigo's face. _Way to go, mister tact._

"I didn't. I'm just glad to see you're okay."

Here's when his chance to move things onto a less slippery ground presents itself. Making a great show of turning to rest flat on his back, low groans of discomfort and well-calculated hisses escaping his lips, Toshiro casts his friend a sideways glance and snorts. "Wouldn't exactly say I'm okay, would you, genius?"

Ichigo must read through his desperate attempt at lightening the mood, for he leans over his seat to pat his plastered knee, a sympathetic look on his face. "Don't worry about that, kid. All the nice doctors and nurses here will take good care of you, me being right with them."

Too annoyed at the epitome to mind the last bit, the snowy head wrinkles his nose in aggravation. "When do you reckon they're letting me out?"

The med student seems to consider the question for a moment, then shrugs. "Not until you can be trusted to walk around on crutches autonomously, that's for sure. It might take a few days, a week perhaps." An apologetic smile stretches his lips, before turning into what Toshiro can only describe as a devilishly wicked grin. "Cheer up though, I'll keep you company. Well, as often as visiting hours allow, that is." Ichigo's eyes shine dangerously as the man beams, urged by who knows what insane idea. "But I might try and get an extra pass for medicine students if you want?"

The utter fright he's experiencing is way too overwhelming for the patient to keep it out of his voice. "God forbid!" As if being stuck in bed without even the dignity to use the bathroom like all human beings wasn't enough of a pain…

Here's when a loud, appalling cry resounds in the hallway, right beyond the door… "Tai-iiiiichou!" … which springs open with unearthly strength as a blur of honey hair and bare breasts blocks out Toshiro's vision.

"Taichoooo-ooou! My, I ran as soon as I was able to!" Chirps none other than Rangiku Matsumoto, presumably to the slim boy she's most likely crushing to death with the brutal force of her embrace. "How are you? Oh, shush, don't get yourself worked up, you need rest! I'll see to it that you stay well tucked under the sheets and don't move a muscle, trust me, taichou! You get out now, Berry, the kid needs his sleep." The hyper woman waves dismissively.

Still buried in Matsumoto's extra generous chest, Toshiro can see with the corner of his eye as Ichigo raises his hands in surrender and stands to oblige the crazy girl. The carrot-top hesitates just before leaving, though – probably taking pity on him, Toshiro muses – and bends to ruffle silver hair while evidently fighting to hold back his laughter.

The words he whispers in the captain's ear as a goodbye make chills run down the patient's spine. "Bet ya miss me already, huh?"

Toshiro groans to himself as Momo's karma bullshit comes back to mind, and with perfect timing too. Just when he was thinking things couldn't possibly get any worse…

"None of that, Berry, you're agitating him! Get lost. Now taichou, sleepy eyes, how about a lovely lullaby to ease you into the gloomy realm of Morpheus…?"

_Whatever the_ _hell_ _karma_ _is_, the footballer decides while watching helplessly as his former lover walks out of the room with a blatant sneer on his face, _mine I must have pissed off big time. _

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_**D**ay **2**_

A loud, drawn out groan resounds as the first flash of bright orange hair comes into view.

"Why did you let _her_ anywhere near me? When I wasn't able to defend myself, furthermost!"

Ichigo, broods Toshiro while the taller boy crosses the hospital room to take his seat on the bedside, doesn't take him half as seriously as he should. "Why, I thought she was your best friend!" The idiot grins derisively, still… still there's a pale flicker of truth in his words that makes Toshiro squirm uncomfortably under the sheets.

"So not my best friend." He mutters grumpily, not anticipating the redhead's prompt retort.

"Then who is it? Your best friend, I mean."

Geez. Feeling suddenly ridiculously small under Ichigo's light yet obtrusive stare, the soccer captain gulps and fidgets to get comfortable against the squashy pillows. _Trust the jerk to make a major deal out of absolutely nothing._ "Don't treat me like a bloody schoolgirl, Kurosaki. You think I need a bff to share my most intimate secrets with and pour my heart out to whenever I'm feeling overemotional?" A cynical 'tch' sound flows past Toshiro's lips as the degrading picture takes shape at the back of his mind. "Please."

The carrot-top puts on a pensive face, then shrugs. "It's not that bad to have someone to confide in, you know." Mischievous smirk back on, Ichigo leans over to mutter furtively in the other's face. "I, for one, would be very happy to hear more 'bout those intimate secrets of yours…"

_Woosh._ Such a fine way to deal with a pillows and assholes problem, Toshiro considers with impossible amount of satisfaction as one of the surplus cushions hits the obnoxious redhead square in the face.

A pitiful whine comes from Ichigo's general direction, but the silver-haired youth isn't feeling particularly compassionate at the moment. "Serves you right for prying. Why so cheerful again? You're like… grinning and giggling and have this silly smile on all the time."

Okay, so maybe he didn't want it to sound quite this harsh, but the thought behind the words is genuine. Nevertheless Toshiro bites his lower lips self-consciously as Ichigo, his middle straightened against the back of the chair for support, replies quietly and firmly. "I told you, I'm just enjoying having you back."

The shadow of a smile appears briefly on the handsome face, only to be replaced by a rueful grimace short after. "Though I imagine it must be a pain for you to be stuck in a frigging bed all day." Ichigo mumbles, surprisingly considerate after all. "That's why…", his eyes light up with something that makes Toshiro's insides churn not at all unpleasantly as he bends to collect a bag the footballer hadn't noticed before, "… I've brought you stuff to keep you entertained when no one's visiting!"

Toshiro's eyes grow wide while contemplating the items Ichigo produced. Mistaking his surprise for bewilderment, the redhead proceeds to enumerate the objects as he drops them in the patient's lap. "My i-pod with the music you like best on, your mobile to gimme a ring if you're getting lonely, these… very voluminous, very tedious looking books, and of course the sudoku mag to keep your brain from growin' lazy while you wait for your limbs to start working again." Taking in the pale boy's mute amazement with a bright smile, Ichigo all but wags his tail as he prompts for praising. "C'mon, I know you wanna say it. Am I your hero or what?"

_Tch_, Toshiro would beg to reply, but no words seem about to leave his mouth any moment. This… Ichigo's kindness he's grateful for, but what truly delights him is how thoughtful his friend proved himself to be by not bringing anything even remotely related to sports, especially soccer. Not that Toshiro can ever get his mind off the royal wreck that his career has become for more than five minutes a day, but it's plain to see the redhead made a serious effort to give him something else to think about, and such regard for his feelings is, _is_ what he always valued Ichigo the most for.

Toshiro blinks away the little invisible tears welling at the corner of his eyes. He makes sure his tone is cool and collected when he speaks. "Sudoku ain't no fun if there's no one to challenge." A slight tilt of white hair outlined head, then quickly, as though the words burnt his tongue: "How about that extra pass you mentioned?"

The sight of Ichigo brightening up like a bloody light bulb, warm brown eyes growing fairly wide in surprise, is – Toshiro will give him that – utterly priceless. "I could still get it if you want me to."

A hopefully nonchalant shrug is enough answer to have the carrot-top grinning like a manic. Which is such a disgraceful and slightly eerie display to be honest that Toshiro would be tempted to crush the boy's foolish, foolish hopes just for the satisfaction of seeing his absurdly happy face fall, _but_ somehow it's not even worth it, and all those white teeth and, ugh, that creepy twinkle in ridiculously expressive eyes and, and, oh, damn, doesn't matter, whatever.

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_**D**ay **3**_

More than just a tad compromising and totally mortifying is what Toshiro would define the predicament Ichigo catches him in upon entering to be like.

Flushing scarlet, the patient pulls the covers over his scarcely clad (damn stupid hospital gowns) lower body and spits venomously: "Ever heard of knocking, Kurosaki? Friggin' good habit."

The redhead halts halfway to the bed, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. "The nurse left the door open. Are – ?" Ichigo's eyes widen a fraction and the words die in his throat. "You squirmed when I said the word. Nurse."

And, damn it all to hell, Toshiro can't help but writhe in reaction, an unconscious defence his body put up to save him the sheer humiliation of this moment. Too bad Sherlock Holmes here doesn't know when to drop mental abuse.

"You did it again! Your left eye twitches when I say…" Probably taking pity of his long known friend, the med student trails off and furrows his eyebrows. "What's up? Did the nurse do something?"

Oh, for Lord's sake. Ichigo in his hero mode is not a sight Toshiro's particularly willing to behold not now nor, well, ever for that matter. "Just her job." He grumbles, so softly the redhead has to cut the distance between them and take his usual place at the bedside to catch what he's saying. "It… is just that – " _why do I have to do his? why can't he decide he doesn't give a damn and would rather talk about the weather?_ _that I could do, that'd be nice and clean and normal and wouldn't make me sound like a thirteen year old virgin_ _to_ _boot_ " – I can't use the toilet on my own, and they won't let me crawl out of bed at all after the other day's accident, so there's, there's this… thing…"

"You mean the catheter." Bless Ichigo's medical knowledge. How he can stay so cool while saying that, Toshiro must assume comes with experience. "Is that it?" The carrot-top gives a tiny playful smile, so discreet the footballer barely notices. "The nurse had just been changing your catheter when I came in?"

Tch. What a redundant question. Like hell he's bothering with giving it an answer, either. … to be fair, it's not that the ginger-head needs him to anyway, given how Ichigo rests his chin on the edge of the bed, glancing up at him with sympathetic eyes. "Like you said, she was just doing her job, you know." The med student points out conversationally, his voice coming out low and growly due to the pressure of the mattress against his throat. "Although I wouldn't say I'm surprised you're being a brat about this." A feral grin splits the redhead's face, making it all too punchable. "You always were kind of the prude."

_This_ now…! Seriously, Toshiro has to bite back a somewhat hysterical laughter. That _Ichigo_ of all bloody people… they_…!_ Sod it. He took it up the ass in a dirty alley and Ichigo's got the guts to scoff at his sense of decorum! The silver-haired prodigy barely suppresses the urge to dig his fingernails in that obnoxiously smiling face and draw blood, composing himself to snarl in response. "Not the fucking point, you nitwit. It's just, I don't…" All vehemence sort of deserts him as Toshiro finds himself struggling for the words to avoid sounding too, well, _prudish_. " 'tis because it was a woman." He mumbles at last, so quietly he's not sure whether Ichigo can hear him at all. "I'm not comfortable with… them touching me in…" That's it, he can't do it. Won't do it. Screw Ichigo and his bloody bad timing and freaking intrusive questions _and_ that insufferable smile to boot.

"You don't like women."

The med student's statement would really be one to laugh at, were Toshiro not busy licking the wounds inflicted to his shattered pride. "Hn. What gave me away?" Sarcasm flows out of his eyes like running water.

And he feels it, then. The hitch in Ichigo's breath, the subtle yet very much real shift in atmosphere anticipating words that are bound to destroy the frail harmony they've somehow managed to pull together since Toshiro has been back.

"I'm seeing somebody. A… girl."

The footballer can read the underlying inference perfectly. Ichigo might as well have said it out loud. _I'm_ _not_ _like _that_. Not like you._ _I'm sane. How's that for a brush-off?_

But it doesn't matter.

Toshiro stares for a long minute, until he can't take it anymore and has to avert his eyes. _Right. Make it sound like I'm the faggot here, sure, whatever. _

His ears are buzzing so that he can just about hear Ichigo's tentative voice but not quite catch the very words. He's got the feeling he's not missing much anyway –

"… felt it was fair for you to know."

– not with the redhead looking this flustered and ashamed, like, like what he's said was anything other than normal and right, when there really is nothing, nothing he should feel sorry for. Toshiro draws a deep, most necessary breath. It doesn't matter, not for real. "Ichigo." He calls quietly, and the other man falls silent, obviously taken aback by the rare utilization of his first name. It feels like ages since they last were intimate enough to – Toshiro won't go there, he won't. Not anymore. "Drop the guilty puppy look, will you. I don't care." He turns his head on the pillow as a low snort escapes his nostrils. "Some boyfriend you must be, ditching your cupcake all the time to run at your crippled mate's bedside!"

Ichigo shoots him a dirty look. "You're not crippled." The redhead all but barks – and Toshiro can't help but consider it somewhat endearing, even though he's not exactly sure why. The med student carries on in a lighter voice. "And it's quite okay. She likes you." Ichigo's lips arch in a good-natured if timid smile. "Though nothing would save you a kick in the jaw for referring to her as my cupcake, had she been around."

Toshiro knows what he's supposed to say now. Something around the lines of: _a tough one, huh? I should like to meet her._ Except he won't. It's not like he can't, he just won't. When Ichigo lied to him – wait, that's not the right word – when Ichigo wasn't being honest about his feelings, it hurt. Like knowing you're unworthy hurts. Like it hurts to reach out and never, never _touch._ Toshiro is well aware this is different – Ichigo doesn't need his approval to move on with his life – but he took an oath to himself he wouldn't… wouldn't pull the man he'd cared for more than anyone else through the same chilling uncertainty he was forced to deal with. He won't lie. But most of all, he won't pretend.

Without really bothering to hide the banter in his words, Toshiro scoffs. "Well, what? Are you just gonna sit there and look stupid or shall I kick your ass already?" When Ichigo raises an eyebrow, obviously clueless, the athlete rolls his eyes and helpfully supplies: "Sudoku."

"Oh, right!" As realization sinks in, the redhead gives a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but makes admittedly a good work at faking mirth. Also, his voice is sufficiently steady as he reiterates. "Sudoku, sure."

_So_ _he doesn't get it yet_, Toshiro muses. Though as much as it saddens him, it's no longer his place to try and teach Ichigo that particular lesson.

Or is it?

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_**D**ay **4**_

The moment Ichigo walks in, time freezes.

"What's _he_ doing here?"

Sojiro's "told you so" smirk has Toshiro exhaling deeply. Bugger, he had hoped to avoid this little rendezvous, given that – as Sojiro truthfully claimed – his high school friend and his former lover can't seem to share even the same room without hissing at each other like crabby cats, but, oh well, guess this bullshit had to end someday, and the sooner the better. "Just what you are, genius. He came to see me."

Ichigo's eyes drift from the boy in the bed to the brunette sitting right at his side, on the very same chair the redhead had been taking the past days. He might be just flattering himself, but Toshiro would bet he can tell with clinical precision exactly what's on the med student's mind as those chocolate brown eyes narrow in contempt. "How come he was let in at this time of the day? It's not visiting hours yet."

The _he_ in question, disregarding the blatant lack of direct acknowledgment, cocks his head to the side and offers a small, polite smile. "You're right, Kurosaki-kun, it's not. I just happen to know half the medical crew in this ward, seeing as I often end up here myself. There's no such thing as accident immunity when one practices athletics, you know."

The timid attempt at friendliness Toshiro is prone to feel grateful for does nothing but aggravate the standing man. Ichigo clicks his tongue in a customary self-restraint action before letting his gaze wander to the soccer captain once again. Here's when – Toshiro gathers from the softening of those previously hunched features – the ginger realizes the change. "You got rid of the plaster."

Nodding in confirmation, Toshiro stretches his right arm experimentally, careful not to be demanding of the healing bones. "Yeah, just this morning. It's nice to be able to crack my knuckles again."

"That's a hideous habit, you know?" Sojiro cuts in, good-hearted reproach in his tone. "It's bad for your fingers, plus it gives me the creeps."

"You can always leave if you're not feeling comfortable."

A hiss escapes Toshiro's lips without him really noticing. Seriously, what the fuck is Ichigo's problem? "That goes for you too." The footballer lets out in a quiet breath, low enough to rise the suspicion he doesn't actually want to be heard, but loud enough for Ichigo to wince as though he was shot and Kusaka to take matters in his hands.

"Now, now, no need to jump at each other's throats like this. You obviously despise me, Kurosaki-san, but it's plain to see you're sincerely fond of Toshiro and came to look after him, so I shan't get in your way." However Sojiro makes no move to stand up, and his real intentions become clear soon after. "If you're not fine with sharing him, then maybe you should wait for your turn."

Both Ichigo's and Toshiro's eyes widen at this, albeit for very different reasons. "Hn. You're pretty arrogant for one who's just come out of nowhere and back into Toshiro's life after, what, six, seven years?" The redhead snarls eventually, stepping subconsciously closer to the bed – like a predator whose meal was in danger of being robbed, the injured youth grouchily considers. "You speak of him as if he was your property."

That does it. Sick and tired of this kettle and pot game, Toshiro lets out an exasperated huff. "Are _you_ two done speaking as if I wasn't present?" He emphasizes by crossing his arms – one more little joy of being plaster-free.

Ichigo turns to look at him abruptly, as though he wasn't expecting the very person in question to interfere. "I am." The redhead grunts, then shoots Sojiro a murderous look and backs off, heading toward the door with a somewhat sulky scowl on his face. "I'll be waiting for you to be through in the lounge room. See ya later, mate."

It all happens too fast for Toshiro to even think of stopping the man from leaving. Not that he would if given the chance, mind you.

"Territorial much, huh?"

Roused from his contemplative state, the silver-haired prodigy casts the youth beside him an admonishing look. "You think you're very clever, don't you?"

Kusaka's playful smile only grows larger as the two former classmates come to a silent understanding. "I don't just think so, I am." The brunette winks, a motion that causes Toshiro to roll his eyes in mild amusement.

"You also think I don't know what you did just now?" The patient's tone is overall scolding, although not entirely devoid of goodwill. It's kind of hard to stay mad at your first true friend ever, after all, especially when their acting like utter jerks was meant to cause no harm.

"What I did?" Sojiro blinks in a shameless simulation of innocence. "Why, I must assume you're way ahead of me on this, Hitsugaya-taichou, for I have absolutely no clue what you're getting at." A telltale grin breaks out then, kind of blowing the oblivious cover away. "Which besides is no big surprise. You were not haunted by the whiz kid pigeonhole half your life for nothing!"

Toshiro can't refrain from snorting loudly. "Nice try, still flattery will get you nowhere."

Uncrossing his arms to take on fumbling with the edge of the sheets, the soccer captain bites his bottom lip to quell a weird anxiety suddenly welling in his chest. Even though there's no logical reason why he should feel nervous about discussing this with the closest thing to a lifelong friend he's ever had, Toshiro can't help but struggle gauchely with the words to say. "Why did you have to tease him like that?" He asks in a small voice, his eyes never quite leaving the rim of the bedspread. "Use that word... _share_… like…" His brow furrows in frustration as he concentrates on the images replaying at the back of his mind. "Like you deliberately wanted him to, to misunderstand."

There, now he's said it and, surprisingly enough, it turns out as the very thing he'd been trying to convey. Toshiro won't raise his head, not straight away, but he can tell Sojiro is right with him on his train of thought by the way his friend's hand lands on his shoulder, sympathetic.

"Don't look so down, babe, or I'll think you're disappointed at me."

"I'm not disappointed." Toshiro bites back on impulse, then pauses to review the other's words in his head. "Did you just call me _babe_?"

Scrupulously avoiding dignifying that with an answer, Sojiro forces the pale boy to lock eyes, an inquisitive look twinkling somewhere behind the genuine concern draped over his features. "What's the matter? If you're not mad at me, then it must be Kurosaki you're upset with." The sombre façade only lasts so much before the inner mischievous grin appears, followed straight after by an unmistakable glint of pure delight in vivid amethyst eyes. "Didn't he look like he had misunderstood enough?"

Toshiro can only groan, too worn out by the little mind game to drag it on any further. _I_ _knew_ _I got it right._ Sojiro is bloody unbelievable! "Why are you doing this?"

"_This_ being…?"

"You know perfectly well." The patient glares at yet another display of mock innocence. "Testing him. What are you trying to demonstrate?"

Kusaka's teasing smirk morphs into a somewhat gentler smile as the boy withdraws to lean back against his seat, a pensive crease showing on his forehead. "I'm not sure myself." He admits reluctantly, eyes never breaking contact with their teal blue partners. "Maybe that he doesn't deserve you. But I sort of wish he did. Maybe I want to prove he might be worth the trouble after all."

_Wha…?_ Toshiro starts, his heart skipping a beat or two. Why would, why _is_ Sojiro talking like that? The words replay in his mind, over and over again. Wrong. There's something terribly wrong about them – Toshiro can't shake off a feeling of gut-clenching revulsion. That's not right. Sojiro isn't supposed to… Ichigo was not the…

_Worth._ That's what undid him.

The soccer captain doesn't even notice his fists closing around the sheets with unnecessary strength, nor the blanching of his knuckles mingling with the sheer white of the bedspread as he speaks, eyes glued to his lap for dear life. "You're not making sense. There's no trouble. I gave up on whatever stupid delusion I might have had about our being together ages ago. Sometimes you just get tired of waiting."

A quiet rustle of clothing disrupts him, right when he was starting to fear he might never be able to cut the fucking sappy stream of his heart. Relief battling self-consciousness and winning, Toshiro lifts his head at last to take in Sojiro's standing form. "You leaving?"

The brunette gives a curt nod before – _tch_, bloody typical – winking flirtatiously. "Wouldn't want Kurosaki to get tired of waiting! Get well, man."

_Oh,_ _c'mon!_ Using his own words against him, how low is that? Toshiro grunts unappreciatively as the other man walks out of the room.

"Oi, kid! All right there?"

_I_ _need_ _a_ _break_, the small prodigy whines to himself as a flash of bright orange hair comes into view, Ichigo stepping over the threshold in large confident paces.

Honestly, his social life since he's been stuck in bed? Way too freaking intense for his taste.

_

* * *

_

_**D**ay **5**_

"Watch it."

"I am."

"No, apparently you're not!"

"What's wrong now?"

"I'm wobbling. And you are the cause of said wobbling."

"How's that?"

Toshiro's reply comes through gritted teeth. How is he supposed to explain that Ichigo's tentative groping of his ass is way more than a little distracting? "Just keep those stray hands to yourself, Kurosaki."

"But I wanna help!" The carrot-top takes a step backward as if to have a proper look at what he must be thinking of as his creation _– god, help me out of this._ A little self-satisfied smile flashes for an instant on that godawfully zealous face, quickly and sensibly replaced by a mortified half pout. "I told you before I want to make it up to you for my stupid behaviour of yesterday. Just let me."

Toshiro rolls his eyes. It's bad enough that he's forced to walk around on sodding crutches when his right arm is still less than fully able to support his weight, but to have Ichigo hell-bent on assisting when his presence is really half of the problem… The footballer sighs irritably. "You want to make amends, that's fine. This is not the right way to do it though."

The med student licks his lower lip absent-mindedly – but it's enough to give Toshiro very strange, very bad suggestions. "And the right way would be…?"

Suddenly the shorter boy feels immensely grateful for the crutches holding him up as his knees weaken dangerously.

Damn.

Flushed cheeks? Check. Butterflies-besieged belly? Check. Sweated palms? Check. Unbecoming surges of red hot fiery arousal running up and down your body, heading decidedly southward – ?

Toshiro makes a strained guttural noise (Ichigo casts him a baffled look in reply). Alright, welcome back, sexual tension! "I meant," he drawls the syllables, ashamed at the painful obviousness of his own Achilles' heel, "you could apologize."

Standing right in front of him with his hands on his hips and brows knitted together in apprehension, Ichigo looks like some experimental crossbreed of a fretting mother hen and a big-headed superhero. The whiz kid shakes off the grotesque image with a jerk of his head. "Is that all?" For the briefest moment, the carrot-top seems almost disappointed. Or is it just genuine regret coming to the surface? Whatever the case, Ichigo's words sound remorseful enough when he bores his eyes in Toshiro's and quietly atones. "I'm sorry. For, y'know. Being a thoughtless idiot."

Sure the jerk has his way with words. Slightly flustered, Toshiro finds himself shifting on the crutches and – most ridiculous of all things ridiculous – racking his brain to come up with an excuse of some kind, anything to let him share the burden of contrition. "Sojiro is like my oldest friend, you know." He blurts out lamely in the end.

Ichigo shakes his head to dismiss whatever poor attempt at an explanation the limping boy is trying to conjure. "I understand." He lays out a hand then, outstretching his arm as to, Toshiro figures, offer support. "Well? Shall we?"

"Forget it! Get your hands off me, Kurosaki!"

"Apprentice medic here? Come on, don't be a brat."

"What the hell did you call me?"

"That's it, that's right! You're doing it! Now, if you only wiped that crazy homicidal look off your face for a sec – "

"I'm trying to run you through!"

"More like, trip on me to death – hey! Watch that thing!"

"Enjoy the stabbing superpowers of your precious crutch, doctor."

"You can't take it out on me 'cause you're cross with your nurse since she had a peek at your bits!"

"Did you _have_ to bring that up?"

"Do you _have_ to maul me with an orthopaedic implement? At least gimme the other one for defence!"

"I'm standing on the other one, you dimwit."

"In this case, I'm just gonna…"

Toshiro isn't sure what he should feel more humiliated for, if the very nurse of his nightmares walking in on Ichigo and him having a crutch fight _or_ tripping on his feet and fall flush against his former lover's unreasonably well-built chest right as said nurse opened her mouth to offer a cautious:

"Are you… having troubles here, sirs?"

Ichigo's half-nervous half-amused snicker resounds too close to Toshiro's ear for comfort. "Business as usual, I'd say. 's just that convalescing kids are hell to handle."

The soccer captain wonders whether his criminal record will still be clean by the time he gests fucking discharged.

_

* * *

_

_**D**ay **6**_

"Promise you'll be a good boy, taichou! Call you as soon as I – "

"Don't!, I mean, don't bother. There's no reason to concern yourself, really. I'm perfectly fine here."

"I bet! What with our favourite be – Berry! Oh, right on cue! I was just – "

"Leaving. Matsumoto was just leaving." Toshiro cuts in hastily, shooting the honey-haired woman a killer look in the process.

"You need to get back already?" Walking further into the room, Ichigo turns to address the girl in the doorway. "That sucks. You just arrived this week."

"Don't encourage her!" The athlete mutters gloomily, but no one pays him attention.

"Yeah, well, what do you do. I could only take so many days off to rush at this little ungrateful brat's bedside and – "

"How did you call me?"

" – make sure he wasn't gonna die on us. Alright, apparently he's in good hands here, skilled hands in fact!"

Toshiro holds his breath, a guilty surge of heat rising to his cheeks. Is the crazy blonde about to…? _If she does, I _will_ kill her. Slowly. Painfully._

"So I'll just leave you two to it. Your crutches practice, I mean! Heard you've been making progress, ne taichou?" Matsumoto flashes a happy grin in his direction, and instantly the footballer knows the woman got him perfectly. His blush somewhat deepens. Damn, doesn't it suck to be read through like an open book. "Goodbye, Berry-kun! Next time I'm 'round you're so treating me to a drink at that hole of yours!"

"My pleasure."

_Tch, bloody bootlicker. _Toshiro rolls his eyes in annoyance as the fair-haired woman waves goodbye one last time and walks out, 'leaving the two of them to it'. _Gods_, women are so –

The pale boy wavers mid-thought while watching Ichigo stroll lazily toward the window, unruffled features composing in a calm yet pensive expression. _Handsome_, instantly comes to mind. Everything about the redhead is too raw to be defined beautiful, and pretty can't even begin to cover it. Attractive is more like it, while disgracefully hot, though fitting, are hardly the words one would use to describe a friend. A male friend at that. Toshiro's eyes slide shut for a moment. _Man, am I screwed. _

"It's… weird, isn't it?"

Ichigo sounds so deep in thought his voice feels impossibly far away. Here's when Toshiro realizes they've never been at this big a distance ever since the footballer has been hospitalized. The empty place at his bedside suddenly stands out like a dark shadows in the sunlight. "What is?" The words come out hoarser than intended.

Turning his back on the window to face the man in bed, Ichigo smiles somewhat weakly, arms crossing over his chest as to keep a fair amount of distance between them – or so Toshiro, in his growingly paranoid state of distress, sees it. "Just how much things have changed these past few years. Feels like forever that you were all living at the flat together."

Teal eyes drift back again to the vacant seat near the bed. Toshiro is not sure what the other expects him to say, so he keeps silent.

Ichigo shifts against the windowsill pressing in the small of his back before carrying on. "Now Matsumoto moved away, Izuru spends half his time tailing that fox-eyed weirdo, Renji and I left the campus and you…" He trails off and pauses, maybe waiting for the footballer to cut in. Toshiro doesn't though, so the carrot-top ends with a shrug. "… you're bound to travel all around the world chasing your dreams of glory, leaving us behind with that slick, creepy lad who took your place. No offence." The ginger adds in a peak of unconcealed hypocrisy, a mock sweet smile grazing his lips.

"Sojiro is not slick. Nor creepy." Toshiro answers mechanically, more out of rooted instinct than authentic feelings. He's too distracted himself by the issue arisen to be bothered with actually scolding the redhead. "What's there in 'kicked out of my team and currently in bed with a fractured leg' that you don't quite grasp, anyway? I'm not going to do much work travelling in the future, if recent events are any indication."

A quiet snort startles him. The soccer captain lifts an eyebrow in question, a move Ichigo replies to by huffing loudly. "Please. Don't offend my intelligence nor yours. You're damn brilliant, and the whole world is going to acknowledge it as soon as you get out of here and quit being a soppy bastard."

Toshiro flinches, ill at ease with the blunt compliment. _Still…_ still there's something off in the redhead's voice, like a bitterness that he can't put his finger on. The silver-haired boy frowns. _Could_ _it_ _be…?_ "You don't sound too fond of the idea though." He utters softly, half hoping for his words to go lost on the other.

"What idea? That of you moving overseas to get awfully loaded and never coming back to see your hopeless friends ever again?" Ichigo's lips arch in a somewhat vicious smirk. "Sure, what do I care."

The words sting in a way that's just plain ridiculous considering how the ginger is obviously joking. Toshiro tries, he really tries not to have them affecting him much, but he can't help wincing ever so slightly as Ichigo bends to lean onto the windowsill, turning his back on him.

It's somewhat easier to collect his thoughts and come up with the right words to say though, the footballer discovers, if those light chocolate eyes are not fixed upon him; staring down at his hands, entwined politely in his lap, Toshiro follows his own personal train of thought and blurts out all of a sudden, well aware of how random his question is going to sound to the oblivious redhead. "Don't you ever wish things could revert to the way they were before?"

Beat. Then, callously: "What's the point?"

He won't be deterred by the other's cold shoulder, he won't. "None. Just, if you had the chance, wouldn't you… do something differently? You can't be perfectly content with everything you did."

It's sudden, and it's sharp. Ichigo's fists curl into tight balls as the boy spins abruptly, eyes narrowing with such hostility Toshiro feels his heart clench in something akin to sheer panic. "Don't beat around the bush." The med student all but snarls, his voice too low – enraged, much more like a growl than a whisper – to sound imposing though. "Are you asking whether I regret falling for you?"

Something… stops. Even dies, maybe.

Right then and there.

Ages elapse before Toshiro can bring himself to swallow the lump in his throat – it's not pain, it's not, but he has yet to figure another way to call the deadly weight hindering his breathing – and shake his head, downcast. _What_ _I'm_ _asking._ _I_ _think_ _what_ _I'm_ _asking is…_ "Can we just be friends again?"

It feels like those very words lifted the veil of abhorrent silence in the room, breaking down whatever invisible barrier was keeping the two of them apart. Ichigo must feel it too, for he effectively cuts the distance and approaches the patient's bed in unsteady paces. "Are you serious?"

There's something purely endearing in the tiny shaking of his mate's voice – the same voice Toshiro has heard in so many different circumstances, pissed and harsh and sad and grumpy and slurred, both strained and slightly high-pitched with pleasure even – but never like this, with such a vulnerable edge to it. Never so honest.

Never so true.

Toshiro only nods, not quite trusting his ability to form words at the moment. Ichigo smiles in response, then – the footballer's breath gets caught in his throat – falls to his knees and stretches a hand across the mattress to cover Toshiro's relaxed one. The redhead's palm grazes against pale, bony knuckles. "I thought you'd never ask." He quietly utters, without taking his eyes off the mesmerizing display that is their hands ghosting one over the other, equally responsive now, equally tender. Until the need for reassurance, the urge to seal a deal much bigger than them becomes stronger, leading Ichigo to tighten his hold on the twin fist, fingers entwining as if out of habit – although that was never their habit, not even back when…

The carrot-top's barely audible murmur shakes Toshiro from his melancholic reverie. "Thank you. I'll try not to screw it up this time."

_Tch._ A tiny smile crawls his way to the prodigy's lips in spite of everything. Toshiro doesn't stop it. "You do that."

Hands interlace against the white of the sheets, and the vacant seat by the bed looks vacant no longer.

_

* * *

_

_**D**ay **7**_

Breathe. For the love of all thing holy, breathe.

It's no use. No bloody use.

"Are you… positive this is a good idea, Berry-kun?"

Yeah, Toshiro would beg to second that.

Standing right next to the bed, closer to him than all others, Ichigo crosses his arms, a petulant huff slipping past his lips. "That's the most reasonable option and you know it, Momo. Besides, as long as Toshiro's fine with it, this is really none of your business."

A loud _whack_ sound announces Rukia's slapping the ginger to the back of his head. And in reason, too. "Watch that toxic tongue, you rotten berry. How about we let Toshiro decide what's best for him before you go all smug asshole on us?"

Ichigo shoots the slim girl a dirty look while rubbing the now sore spot, but says nothing.

"You know, Rukia does have a point here, mate." Renji cuts in somewhat cautiously, eyeing his former roommate warily (Toshiro's got the feeling something happened between those two, but seeing as he's not sure he really wants to know, he's not going to ask). "I mean, how are you… y'know, making it work, since – _and_, and besides you've got your job at the pub, and the college and – "

The med student's demolition of the pineapple head's objection is systematic. "Nonsense. Goat Face can replace me at the pub when he's not busy at the clinic, Yuzu and Karin can do that the rest of the time. Toshiro needs space to move around on crutches, and my house is ridiculously huge. We won't be a burden to each other there. I can't think of a single con, unless, yeah…" Hazel eyes shift nervously to lock with ocean green ones. The boy in the bed stiffens. "You okay with this, kid?"

Such a good question. Well, apart from the kid thing. He will have to tell Ichigo off for that later. Later on. When they'll be alone at the Kurosaki's mansion. Just the two of them. Stuck. For three weeks, possibly more. So said the doctor. Just the two of them. And of course that's okay because they're friends. And this is what friends do – they help each other in times of need. And he currently is. In need. Wait, this sounded dirty. In need _of_ _a_ place to stay since the doctors discharged him today and he can't possibly go back to the apartment, where there's no longer room for him. And it's going to be just fine. Because they're friends. And that's what friends are for.

Goddamnit, this is not working. To think it was him who wanted to, to… reopen the whole friends topic…!

A seraphic smile has been tugging at the corners of Sojiro's lips for a while now, though the boy has admittedly done a good job at acting oblivious. _Tch_, just not good enough. It makes Toshiro want to bitch-slap him first and then shake him by the shoulders begging for help. He's positive the sly athlete would find a way out of this, but he can't let his own mask of perfectly-studied composure crack now, not here, in front of everyone, in front of Ichigo.

Toshiro draws a deep breath and, damn, can almost feel Sojiro's grin widening as he speaks. "Why would I have problems with it? If you're willing to be my host until I recover, then I'm going to take you up on the offer. It's not like I have many other options anyway."

Ichigo's eyebrow shoots up in mock outrage at that. "Why, thank you a lot."

Gods, whatever horrendous crime he must have committed in some previous life to deserve this, one would think it was under the bridge by now. But no. Apparently being surrounded by infuriating sons of a bitch is his cross to bear for all eternity. Scoffing in both self-pity and a peak of ill temper, Toshiro bites back harshly. "You know I didn't mean it like that, Kurosaki. Don't you start pissing me off even before this sharing a house thing begins." Then, pulling the sheets off of his lower half to make his point, the prodigy adds in a tone of finality. "Now, all of you, out. I need to use the toilet and you're _not_ staying here while I do."

Surprisingly enough it's Renji of all people who stalls, shuffling his feet, seeming torn between hiding in a safe and voicing whatever lame excuse for a thought is currently crossing his mind. Of course, no matter how badly Toshiro wishes mentally for the redhead to leave it be (in fact there is a fair chance Renji is actually doing this on purpose to aggravate him all the more), the policeman spills eventually. "Ya sure you dun wanna a hand with that? Berry told us you had a hard time – "

_Nnnnnggggh, this now._ Glaring daggers at the ominous carrot-top, although the effect is kind of ruined by the crimson flush on his cheeks, the footballer barks, and yeah, this will be his last word: "Get lost!"

Amazingly compliant after all, the four mates stroll toward the door, Reni muttering something about ungrateful crabby midgets and verbally assaulting a cop under his breath (Toshiro makes a mental note to rip the guy a new one as soon as his kick leg starts working again).

Sojiro is last to exit. He hasn't spoken once since Ichigo voiced his proposal, but the gleeful sparkle in violet eyes tells Toshiro all he needs to know and more.

_You're _so _screwed!_ chant bright amethysts, pretty loudly at that.

"I know. Get the hell out." Toshiro grunts in reply, and Kusaka knows better than to play dumb for once.

_Hard times ahead. Hold on, not hard. Not hard. __So un-hard. Just, tough. Tough times ahead. Yeah, that's much better. Better and sexless. Friendly._ _'Cause_ _this_ _is_ _how_ _it's_ _going to be. Friendship rocks. Hell yeah!_

Man, Toshiro sighs falling back against the pillows, isn't he thoroughly screwed.

* * *

.

* * *

**;-)**


	16. Fifth

**.**

**

* * *

**

_Warm fabric wrinkled under his skin. Sweat. His own legs, spread gently but firmly. Kissing. A sharp tug on his orange hair, more kissing. A tongue, ever so gentle. _

_Then the_ _urge. To flip them over. He does just that. Lying flat on the belly now, the other. Slick expanse of pearly_ _skin. _

_The need. Sliding on the mattress to get on all fours. Atop his lover. Straddling. Poking. Clenching narrow hips. Nudging slim legs apart from behind. Pressing. Oh gods, more. Rubbing his tip against the hot wetness between shaky_ _thighs. A moan. A wanton one. Not his own, or so he thinks. _

_More heat. He thrusts onward. And again._ _Soft whimpers. And again. A yelp, some shifting. There it is._

_There it – _

_Impossibly hard and thick and unequivocally male, something throbs in his hand as he winds an arm around his partner's middle. _

* * *

When Ichigo wakes up, he's grinding down hard into the bed sheets, aroused and distraught by the confusing images crowding his sleepy mind. He's got just about the time to acknowledge the pretty large, very damp spot on the front of his oh-so-confining boxers before his awake mind kicks in to claim its due place.

Familiar images start playing at the back of his head then – pictures of swollen breasts and gentle curves, Tatsuki's sharp yet wide hips accommodating under him. By the time Ichigo's hand disappears inside his briefs, pumping erratically the swollen flesh there, habitual, normal fantasies are swirling like feminine, devious clouds about his brain, memories of women he's slept with flooding back before his glassy eyes, leading him on. And when he comes, a barely muffled grunt escaping him, it's his girlfriend's hot emptiness he's thinking of filling up with the white sticky seed.

Not the tight, welcoming ass of the faceless man from his dream.

Goddamnit, this is _so_ not happening to him _again. _

* * *

Toshiro is eating his breakfast when Ichigo walks into the kitchen.

"Mornin'."

"Hey, kid. Ya up already?"

The silver-haired shorty glares at him over his cup of steamy coffee. Actually, he manages to swallow a mouthful of toast at the same time, an ability Ichigo is quite admiring of. "Dun call me that. Besides, I had no choice but to get up early, since it takes me bloody ages to do the simplest things with this – " he tugs at the crutch resting against the back of his seat, supreme annoyance staining his features " – useless piece of trash."

"That useless piece of trash is what's keeping you moving, y'know." Ichigo objects conversationally, moving toward the fridge and opening it to produce a carton of milk. An experimental shake reveals the container's only half full. "Could at least have waited for me to have breakfast, by the way. Ever heard of guest etiquette, kid?" He makes sure to stress the last word so that his very much purposeful attempt at annoying the other doesn't get lost on Toshiro.

"My iron will and a stash of painkillers are what's keeping me moving." The white-haired athlete snorts in contradiction, all the while peeling off the lid of an apricot jam jar. "And why should I care for guest etiquette when you're obviously the worst host that's ever been? You finished all the hot water _again_ last night. Ain't there such thing as a medical ethic code you're supposed to observe in order to call yourself a doctor?"

"Somehow I strongly doubt Hippocrates ever said anything about showering practice." The redhead retorts merrily, then sits down across the sulky footballer, a glass of milk in his right hand, a butter knife in his left one. Snatching the jar out of Toshiro's hold, an action that warrants him the deadliest look in the other's repertoire, Ichigo starts smearing the jam on his toast with nonchalance. "Is it today I'm to drive you to university for that meeting with Shihoin-sensei, by the way?"

Toshiro doesn't reply right away. Even when he does, his voice sounds muffled around a gulp of dark coffee. "The meeting is today, but you needn't drive me. Sojiro is coming to pick me in an hour or so."

Ichigo's brows furrow almost against the boy's will. "Bullshit, I'm heading there anyway. Ukitake-sensei wants my latest report handed by the end of the month."

Teal eyes raise from the plate, a somewhat wary look in them. "There's more than a week till then." The prodigy deadpans quietly, swirling the now mildly lukewarm cup in his hands.

Ichigo finds himself contemplating the minuscule circles and waves creasing the otherwise still surface of the black liquid in the mug. Then Toshiro takes one last sip, and the redhead snaps out of his daydream. "So? The papers have been all ready and double-checked on my desk for days, might as well go deliver 'em this morning." The med student gulps down a bit of toast and stands, hurriedly wiping his jam stained fingers on a napkin. "Call Kusaka back and be ready to leave in twenty minutes." He states with a tone of finality, and before Toshiro can even think of protesting – either for the sudden change in his programs or the unwarranted utilization of his napkin, since Ichigo couldn't seem to reach his own – he scrambles off toward the door and hastily heads upstairs to go change.

* * *

Toshiro stiffens visibly when they stop in front of the garage door. "We're taking your car?"

"Sure we are. You wouldn't even fit inside Goat Face's crock with those crutches, and public transport is out of question till you're perfectly healed." Realizing the other boy is no longer on his heels, Ichigo turns around, frowning. "Something the matter?"

The footballer buries his fists in his pockets and keeps quiet. _Whatever_, Ichigo mentally shrugs it off and pulls the car door open on the driver's side.

Loud enough, a gulp is heard coming from Toshiro's general direction. "I'll have the backseat. More room for my leg, you know."

And Ichigo knows that should ring a bell. An alarm bell at that. But for some reason he just can't – can't put his finger on it, and it's easier to just slide on the driver's seat and start the engine, fighting the instinct screaming for him to open the backdoor and help the limping boy inside. "Suit yourself." The carrot-top grumbles as Toshiro finally crawls on the backseat, eyes cast down.

Ichigo can practically feel the small prodigy fidgeting with unease all through the ride.

* * *

Okay, about time he faced it: he's reading the same line over and over and over again It's not a good line, either. Sighing in slight exasperation, Ichigo shifts against the armrest and lowers the book onto his lap, visibly too distressed to carry on pretending being interested in reading. "So?" He lets out in a dry scoff at last.

"Mh?"

"Aren't you gonna tell me already?"

Toshiro finally averts his eyes from the TV screen, left eyebrow raised in question. "What are you talking about?"

Oh, please. Ichigo is torn between the urge to snort and smack the prodigy on the back of his head. Eventually he settles for giving a meaningful eyeroll. "Earth to Snow White! Your meeting with Shihoin-sensei, obviously."

The pale boy wriggles to pull a cushion from under his butt. For a moment Ichigo believes the shorty is going to throw it at him and then run away squealing like a girl, but Toshiro just holds the squashy thing in his hand, seemingly unsure of how to use it. "What about it?"

"My, you are dense for a genius. How did it go?" The carrot-top stares with a frown as his friend wraps his arms around the cushion and all but sags against the back of the couch, as to curl up in a tight ball. Ichigo's brow knits in disbelief. _What the heck?_ "You won't tell, huh?" A nonchalant shrug emphasizes his words, despite his inner annoyance. Just why won't Toshiro talk to him? Ichigo feels a surge of hurt spreading from his core, then one of anger as the idiotic contrast between his feelings irritates him. "Fine then. I suppose you might as well go to bed now."

The footballer half snorts half grunts, a tinge of amusement flickering in his eyes mixed with mild aggravation. "_This_ is my bed. I can't _go_ to bed until you get the fuck up and out."

"Rude." The redhead huffs under his breath. "This happens to be my couch more than it is your bed, you know."

"If you didn't want to host me you could have just said so."

_Screeech. Hang on._ Ichigo spins to sit crosswise and face the other boy completely. "Where the fuck did this come from? I never said I didn't want you here."

Is Toshiro really squirming to get as far as possible from him, pulling back against the armrest his side of the couch? 'Cause if he is, this is just so ridiculous it's not even funny. "Well, you make an amazing actor then."

The genius's voice is venomous. Ichigo can hardly believe his ears. "Care to elaborate?"

Toshiro is really getting into their little argument – it's plain to see by how he mimics the carrot-top and turns to crouch sideways, making eye contact with such a brute force it feels more like they're clashing hard. "You're never around. Not for lunch, not for dinner, and don't have me starting with the late nights. I don't think you've slept home more than two nights in a row since I've been staying here."

_Okay, how long have I had a wife?_ The med student's eyes widen. This can't be happening for real. And it's not like, it's, it's _none_ of Toshiro's business what he gets up to at night, especially since he's supposedly staying over at his girlfriend's (there's absolutely no need for the footballer to know Ichigo has actually bunked with Renji at the police headquarters the past few nights). Sleeping outside helps. Helps… keeping those dreams at bay. So Ichigo has found out. But he can't even begin to explain that to him who might easily be the very reason why said dreams awoke in the first place. "And your point would be…?"

Toshiro's beautiful, oh so very annoyingly beautiful eyes are squinted dangerously now. "You're avoiding me. I wanna know why. If you're not comfortable with – "

_Scratch that._ "I am comfortable. Totally. 'Tis my own freaking house after all. Why would I feel uneasy?"

Ah, fuck. He just knew he would overdo it somewhere through this little tiff (that he's not thinking of as a lovers tiff, thank you very much). Toshiro has probably seen through his poor attempt at a cool façade by now. "You've hated this place since the very moment your father said you should leave the campus and move your, how did he call it?, sorry disrespectful ass here." The small prodigy points out matter-of-factly, a half inquisitive half triumphant not-quite-smirk stirring his lips. "Besides, you're edgy. The paper will tear if you keep wrinkling it."

_Sod it._ "You know what?" Ichigo throws the book aside and leaps up, hoping a hasty retreat will conceal the disgraceful flush on his cheeks. "I'm going to bed."

He's actually surprised when Toshiro scrambles to stand up, as quickly as having his right leg in a cast allows. "Like hell you are! I demand to know what's wrong with you."

"What's wrong with me? Honestly, Toshiro." For a split second Ichigo stalls, hands on his hips, considering dignifying the other with a more elaborate answer only to think better of it within a moment. "Tomorrow will be another early rise. I could definitely do without you giving me a migraine." He ends in a defeated sigh before turning on his heels and moving to exit.

A breathy murmur reaches his ears before he gets the chance to take more than a few steps. "Shihoin-sensei, she said…" Ichigo spins around to find his mate locking gaze with the ground. "She said I am to make an important decision."

Wait up. That sounds familiar. Oh, right: the sly git had said the same words that morning at the hospital. Now genuinely curious, the ginger tries his hardest not to look overly interested and only offers a casual: "Could you use an advice?"

Toshiro's lips arch in a weak, condescending smile that has Ichigo's blood rushing to his temples. "I highly doubt you can help me with this."

"Try me."

Here's when the athlete's face falls, so blatantly even Ichigo acknowledges it. Somehow it feels like – he's not sure why, but still – like his little dare has struck Toshiro much harder than intended. Hit a sore button maybe, even.

Just when he's started wrapping his mind around the idea of never getting an answer, his former lover speaks up in a small voice. "Shihoin-sensei says there is the faint possibility that my sporting career may not be completely spoiled for good."

The ginger 'tch'es a little at that. "You're the only one who ever thought it was, y'know."

Mustn't it be weird for Toshiro to stand like that, leaning heavily on his crutch, eyes glued to the floor in – is that contrition? Or is he just scanning the floor for some imaginary underground way out? Whatever the case, his voice isn't apparently getting any steadier, and Ichigo finds himself shuffling his feet uneasily in reaction. All that stalling and lying and bottling things up is really getting on his nerves. "It's not like that. She made it pretty clear I'm done with soccer. That door stays closed. But I might still stand a chance with professional levels if I… reconsidered my priorities."

_Hn._ For some reason that doesn't sound right. "Meaning?"

"Shihoin-sensei always wanted me to keep training with her and become an athlete. Like Sojiro, whom she practically raised. When I chose football instead, she went nuts." Toshiro shifts his weight to get a better hold on his crutch, hopping a little in the process (sympathy and hilarity wage a duel inside Ichigo's chest at the sight). "Eventually we sorted things out and remained on decent terms. And now she heard about my accident and offered to help me get out of the impasse."

_Tch_, he had known something was off about this. The redhead can't quite keep an angered shaking off his voice. "By forsaking all that you've fought for these past six, seven years? Brilliant."

Toshiro's eyes shine viciously at that. "Not everything's all fucking black and white, you know, Ichigo? Sometimes you gotta look at the shades and see what's there. See if they're holding something in store for you."

Quickly getting over the mild shock of hearing his first name coming from the shorty's lips, Ichigo moves subconsciously closer, the biting edge in his tone sounding even clearer as he does. "Is this your ambition then? Living in the goddamn shades feeding off the tiniest crumbles of bygone glory and dead dreams life will be throwing at you?"

Yes, he's well aware he's being aggressive, but he's just too desperate for a reaction, and if his lasting acquaintance with the silver-haired prodigy has taught him something, that's undoubtedly that Toshiro needs cornering to give answers. "Damnit! Why can't you just – " Right as expected, the footballer waves his crutch in the air with a frustrated growl. Ichigo can tell he's fighting not to completely lose it. "We're not all like you. Somebody actually pays for their mistakes."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" When the former whiz kid turns around and starts clumsily limping away, Ichigo can't help but bark after him. "Oi, Toshiro! The hell you think you're goin'?"

The athlete glares over his shoulder. "I'm not staying if you're gonna be like this. I'm sure Momo and the others would – " Teal eyes screw tightly shut in a pained grimace. Toshiro shudders and the crutches holding him up tremble as he leans on them full weight.

_Dizziness_, Ichigo instantly deliberates. _Probably caused by the high dosage of painkillers combined_ _with emotional distress._ He's right at the prodigy's side in a split second. "Calm the fuck down and sit." The tenderness in his own voice, clashing curiously with harsh words, startles him. Luckily Toshiro doesn't seem to notice as he giddily slouches against Ichigo's chest, his breathing laboured. _Prevent panic attacks_, the redhead recalls. His medical ethic tells him to stroke the boy's back reassuringly – although he can find no professional excuse for the sheer urge to run his fingers in silver hair (he stoically resists). The moment Toshiro makes a feeble attempt at pulling back, Ichigo knows he has to let him go. "Better?"

The smaller youth gives a curt, shaky nod. His eyes stay glued to the ground as he mutters something the med student doesn't quite catch. "If I accept Shihoin-sensei's proposal I'll be leaving with Sojiro in September, when the sporting season begins."

One word Ichigo hears perfectly though. "Leaving?"

Toshiro lifts his head – they're still strangely close, like neither is willing to acknowledge any sort of discomfort deriving from proximity – and casts him a 'what the hell is your problem, nitwit?' kind of look. "I'd be running for the major league. Of course I couldn't do that by staying here."

That brings a troubled scowl on Ichigo's face. _What's_ _so_ _wrong_ _with here?_ He can't help musing, but he knows better than to voice the thought.

"There's another option though." Now steadier on his legs, Toshiro withdraws a fraction so that his gaze levels with Ichigo's. "The sensei said that if I really don't want to give soccer up, I could try and apply for football coach here. The place shall be vacant from next term on, after Tsukabishi-sensei'll have resigned."

A carrot eyebrow shoots upward in surprise. "Sounds good enough to me."

Toshiro sucks on his lower lip, draws it between the pearly lines of his teeth in a way that captures Ichigo's attention for just a little longer than appropriate. "That would mean putting all my personal ambitions aside though. Everyone knows that in sports, once you've become a coach your career as a solo athlete is dead and gone." A vague, barely-there smile stretches the prodigy's lips tiredly. "I could really use that advice now, you know."

Damn. Sighing, Ichigo shoves his hands in his pockets as Toshiro stumbles backward and all but props back down onto the couch. This shitty situation he doesn't have a clue how to solve, and it's driving him nuts to feel – even worse, witness _him_ feeling – so helpless. "Sadly you were right, I can't help you." The redhead admits reluctantly, rocking on the balls of his feet against his own better judgement. He hates being at a loss for what to say, and that's just what this stupid dilemma is making him feel like. What's worse, his body is known to go and betray him horribly in similar circumstances, namely giving him a flustered idiotic air; he can just hope Toshiro is beyond caring. "Just… you don't have to decide immediately, do you? Then sleep it down. See how it feels in the morning."

Fine, that wasn't the most brilliant advice in the history of human befriending, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything else. Toshiro wastes no time in mocking his gaucherie, a nasty smirk blooming on his features. "That's lame." Ichigo gives a contemptuous snort, which the snowy head replies to by cocking his head to side, lips twitching in a somewhat gentler smile. "But I will. Thank you."

Just as expected, his body doesn't miss the opportunity to embarrass him – much to his horror Ichigo feels what's undoubtedly a girly blush creeping over his cheeks. "Anytime." He grunts so grudgingly Toshiro frowns a little, but, _oh_, _so_ _what_, not his burden. To hell with everything. Gonna follow his own advice and go sleep it down.

Whatever the fuck _it_ is

* * *

_Denim__. Burning the top of his thighs. Carving reddish lines in the bare tender skin. In his lap, the other. Inches and inches and inches of naked skin he can feel up with hands that are shaking in anticipation. _

_This __is different though. Different from usual. From before. Feels more like a – not quite a dream, he's not sure. More like a memory, maybe._

_Maybe… _

_The gear stick pokes him in the knee as his lover nudges his legs further apart, lifting bony hips up in the meantime, wrapping firm legs around his waist. Ichigo breathes hard through his nose as a tongue flicks over his ear, sending jolts of electricity running down his spine. _

_He thrusts upward and in and, gods, _gods_, this is so something he has experienced before. He remembers. Remembers. The velvety heat clutching his manhood in a grip that's both painful and relieving at the same time. To the hilt, to the hilt. Bury. The car fills up with – mist, and noise, and the unmistakable smell of arousal that has nothing, nothing feminine to it. _

_Ichigo tilts his head backward __to yield into a kiss. Rising on its own volition, his right hand threads through messy silver white tresses. _

* * *

He comes back to consciousness with a somersault, panting heavily. The ache between his legs doesn't bother him half as much as the pale yet perfectly clear ghostly images from his dream though.

Ichigo punches his pillow, hard.

There's no fucking denying what's going on anymore, is there?

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**FINALLY I managed to get this chapter out! I think it didn't take me quite as long as the previous one, right? Still, it's way shorter. Hope you appreciated it anyway. =)**

**To Kiki: no, this was NOT my attempt at making you cry, so don't say I failed! :p Angstier angst ahead all for you, muahaha. *heart* ( won't allow me to draw a heart properly ;_;)**

**To FullmetalKeyBlade-13: you and reviewers just as constant and affectionate as you rock! *w* Thanks for your never faltering support.**

**To SillyWQ: I must have said it before, I'm totally undeserving of such kind words. But, oh well, I'm saying it again. Also, you described my writing as "direct and to the point with no useless words or sentences", adding that it was a pro to you, while I myself think it's mostly because of how poor my English vocabulary is xD. Thank you anyway. And, you know, Ichigo's revelation was placed more or less in the exact midst of last chapter, so yeah, it was definitely meant to slice the whole thing in two. Ten points to you for noticing! =D**

**To JacinthX: thanks for everything you said, although I'll admit I'm most flattered by your comment on Kusaka. I really am trying to take something out of him, you know, not making him the usual stereotyped villain-ish character always fawning over Toshiro and getting in the way of IchiHitsu romance… I like to think of him as someone more complex than a pawn. Glad you're appreciating it! ;-)**

**As per usual, feel the love - spread the love - feed the love: REVIEW****! =D See ya asap, everyone.**


	17. Sixth

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When they learn of Toshiro's bone-engraved distaste for summer, everyone automatically assumes he's just being difficult, a grouchy boy as per usual. Only when – better yet, if ever – they get to see him standing on the shore in a swimsuit, arms folded over a ridiculously pale chest and murder written in neon letters on his face, do they realize just how serious the whole matter is.

Self-preservation usually keeps most people from daring ask _the_ question.

Then again, of course most people aren't King of Jackasses Abarai Renji.

"What's the prob, midget? Ya're shitting yourself. What, you can't swim?"

Slender fingers clutch the phone so hard bony knuckles turn white. "Don't make me embarrass you, idiot. Water's like my natural element."

"Then what, scared the bath suit makes ya look fat?" Toshiro can practically hear the goofy sneer in the redhead's voice.

"I won't dignify that with an answer. Now, if you will courteously leave me to – "

"Aw, c'mon, where your sense of humour? Midget's being a prissy spoilsport."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call – "

"Everyone's coming! Even Kira found two weeks to spare his old buddies, and he's got the creepy fox guy hovering over him all the time. What's your excuse?"

"I told you before, I don't like summer."

"Shitty excuse."

"That's no excuse! Ask Momo how – " Toshiro trails off with a shudder. Barely in time. He'd been just about to spill the beans on some very secretive, very embarrassing detail of his childhood no one's supposed to be let on in anytime. " – nevermind. I don't need to justify myself. Can't you take no as an answer?"

"Nope. Not used to it. Ladies never say no to womanizer Abarai!" The jerk beams on the other end of the line.

"Are you calling me a _lady_?"

"Ha, not a chance! Ladies don't wet their beds in summertime 'cause they've had too much watermelon!" As all the colour leaves his face, Toshiro feels the ominous grin stretch wider on Renji's face. "Ya honestly thought Momo hadn't told us?"

Damn it._ Never trust a girl with a secret_, the athlete grunts to himself. "I was a child! And she was the one feeding me all that watermelon to begin with – " what's the point in arguing over this with a dimwit like Pineapple Head, really? " – stuff it, I don't have to do this. Leave me the fuck alone. Have a nice…"

"Shiro-chan?" Damn this sing-song voice. Frowning, Toshiro spins on the spot only to see Kusaka standing beside him with a cool, inviting smile arching his lips. "Say we'll go, come on. It will be fun."

It will be _what?_ Toshiro's brows knit tightly together. To think Sojiro is supposed to be his best friend! "Are you bloody insane? It'll be hideous. The beach, the sun, the _heat_, and sharing a house with every of them for two freaking weeks…"

"A tent, midget-chan. We'd be camping." Renji chides in.

"That's even worse!" Toshiro shoots Kusaka a 'see?' kind of look. "You wanna go? Fine, go, none's keeping you. You're a grownup, I'm not your nanny and you don't need taking care of."

Sojiro's left eyebrow quirks, in that quizzical way that generally has Toshiro fearing for his life. "Not entirely true. Who will protect me from your bloodthirsty ginger friend if you're not coming?"

Hang on, this is strange. Cupping the phone to cover the mic, Toshiro murmurs as quietly as humanly possible. "Abarai is not all that scary, you know. A dumbass, totally, but not bloodthirsty. Besides, he's not allowed to fire on civilians, if that's what you're worried ab – "

"Oh, Abarai-kun is not the redhead I feel wary of." The oh-so-typical angelic smile appears on the amethyst eyed boy's face, painting it with that suave tinge of innocence that Toshiro has come to know – and utterly distrust – in time. "Anyway, I need to be going now. If you still want that lift, you should hurry up."

The snowy head is still distracted, only half comprehending what's going on around him. Renji grumbles something unintelligible on his end of the phone, and Toshiro snaps out of his musing abruptly. "Hold on. Abarai. When you say 'everyone's coming', you mean…?"

_Click._ End of communication. Damn, this must have something to do with what Renji had been trying to say.

"Ne, Shiro-chaaaan? About that lift?"

Muttering a nasty curse under his breath, Toshiro hangs up with unnecessary strength. "Coming. Just stop using that friggin' name! I'm fucking killing Momo for telling you!"

The phone call is forgotten.

* * *

Until – and it's been almost three weeks – they all come together at Ichigo's birthday party (yes, Toshiro will be celebrating it again after two years of silently cursing this very day) and the whole matter is once more brought up.

They're all sitting in a row at the counter, which if you ask Toshiro is a pretty uncomfortable arrangement for small talk – all the better, he'd rather drown himself in a pint and not be forced to endure social conventions anyway. Too bad someone, probably Rukia, sees fit to disrupt his quiet with an idiotic conversation opener.

"Sooo, everyone ready for wild summer hols?"

Surely the girl has been drinking a lot, the footballer muses, and all but smiles condescendingly at the tricks alcohol plays – then he realizes something is very, very terribly wrong.

No one's staring at Rukia as though she was obviously suffering from severe brain damage. In fact, no one but Toshiro looks the tiniest bit baffled by the girl's cheerful, if slurred, enquiry.

"Totally! You know I'm actually counting off the days on the calendar?" That's Momo, sitting at Toshiro's left, squirming on her seat in excitement.

"Ha, ya such a sentimental little girl, Momo-chan!" Renji, drawling the words a bit due to the unearthly quantity of alcohol ingested.

"Actually, I'm counting the days as well." Izuru, in a small timid voice.

"Well, just as I was sayin': you too are a lil' girl, blondie!"

_Whack._ That's, naturally, Rukia smacking Renji. "Gay jokes stopped being funny in the sixties, moron."

"Assuming they ever were to begin with."

"Yeah, right."

"You girls are no fun." Slouching gloomily against the counter, the policeman turns to face the boy on his left, occupying the last seat of their row. "Wha 'bout you, Berry?"

Toshiro stretches unconsciously over the counter to get a better view of the addressed ginger – well, what, he's just curious, bite him. "I must say I'm not a big fan of gay jokes myself." Cocking his head to the side, Ichigo flashes his most charming – _tipsy_ – half smile.

Renji shakes his head furiously, a frustrated moan slipping past his lips. "Didn't mean that. Gods, why are ya all so hard ta talk to?"

"Maybe because you're too pissed to make sense." Sojiro sensibly suggests, but is repaid with a scary look.

"Know your place, pretty boy. Drunk or not, I can still have you arrested for offending a law officer."

Genuine admiration drapes itself over the raven-haired athlete's soft features. "That was surprisingly coherent coming from a man who has just poured his eighth Martini all over his pants!"

Squirming on his stool in sudden realization, Renji blanches, denial painted in bright brushes across his face. "Did not."

Much to Toshiro's horror, Kusaka _giggles._ "I'd rather not engage in a pointless 'did not' 'did too' contest, if you don't mind, Abarai-kun."

"You stupid mutt, Renji! Watch what you're doing!" A yelping Rukia leaps up as a bunch of Martini-drowned olives roll their way over the counter and end up disgracefully splattered on the ground.

" 's not my fault! Pretty boy was – "

"You really should stop blaming others for your wrongs, Abarai. You're an adult now, when are you finally taking responsibility for your actions?"

"Shudda hell up, blondie! Mind yar own freakin' business. Say, is Foxy Eyes _taking responsibility_ with you?"

"Again, gay jokes are not cool, pineapple head."

" 'twas not a gay joke, 'twas an animal joke. A fox joke. Fox jokes always cool, ne, Berry?"

"Don't drag me in this! You're on your own, mate."

"Ow, thanks a fucking load! I'm so not sharing my tent with ya!"

"I never asked you to."

"Besides, it's not exactly like you have options, pineapple head. Neither Rukia nor I will bunk in with any of you guys, and since Kusaka-kun agreed to share with Izuru, that only leaves Berry and you. You're stuck!"

_Does this…_ Toshiro's brain process feels uncharacteristically slow at the moment. Blame it on the booze. _… mean they're… how am I… am I out of the…? _

"Who rubbed me out of the picture?"

It's almost comical how everyone and everything, even the suicidal olives cascading off the counter, seems to still perfectly at the words. This sense of might is actually quite inebriating, feels like something he could definitely get used to – Toshiro considers before noticing the astonished looks sent his way.

Predictably enough, Momo is the first one to collect her wits. "Shiro-chan wants to… come camping with us?"

The sheer disbelief in his cousin's voice has Toshiro making his mind up once and for all. "Sure, why not. Never said I wouldn't, by the way."

That sets Renji off like fireworks. "The hell he didn't! Ya shoulda heard him on the phone! The way he went about it, all skittish and snooty and gen'rally asshole, ya'd say he wanted to cut my head off jus' for asking!"

Now, this is plain preposterous. Slightly flushed, Toshiro turns his head to the right, hoping to get support from his oldest friend. All that Kusaka says though is: "Another impressive feat of a positively smashed man. I am truly amazed!"

Oh, eat him. Seriously, friends and relatives? All the same, one giant pile of crap. "You were there, Sojiro! You heard me. I never outright refused!" Yes, Toshiro is quite aware of the futility of his efforts at this point, but you can't really blame him for trying.

"Not technically, still common sense has it – "

"Are you serious about this, Shiro-chan? You do know what camping means, right?"

"Dirty soil."

"Wild animals."

"Hot the day."

"Humid the night."

"Entertainers."

"Oh, yes, the entertainers! All their pre-scheduled activities you never have a say on… excellent point, Rukia-chan!"

"Ahem, girls, maybe you shouldn't… are you _trying_ to make him desist?"

"No way, Kira-kun, we're just being realistic! My Shiro-chan isn't apt for this sort of things. Have I ever told you about that time when he was at summer camp and – "

"Momo!" Seeing red with outrage, Toshiro barks. He's _not_ letting his large-mouthed cousin spill the beans on yet another humiliating childhood tale for their friends' delight, not if he can prevent it.

"Ya know what, ladies? Blondie's right, ya shouldn't bring midget down. God knows he's got enough of a stick up his ass without you twisting it in – "

_Whack_, louder than usual. "Renji! That was revolting!"

"Ow, damn girl, whazz yer problem? 'twas a figure of speech!"

"Just keep that foul mouth of yours shut."

"Guys…" Ichigo butts in. Surprisingly enough, his call has a calming effect on the gang. "… what's the big deal?" Chocolate brown eyes, shining a pale amber under the neon lights, drift to lay on Toshiro, effectively gluing him to his seat. "The more the better, hn?"

No one adds a syllable. The little prodigy is too flusteredtipsydazzledconfused to think straight.

That sort of settles it.

* * *

August. Sunlight breaking in through the open windows. Sticky seats. Smothering seatbelts. No air conditioning.

Toshiro can't believe he let himself being fooled into accepting this.

"Neee? Say lads, was I telling stories about my dexterous driving?"

"If by 'dexterous' you mean 'terroristic', then you were greatly underestimating yourself. Watch that tree!"

"We're on the highway, _baka_ Kuchiki. There are no trees."

"Tell that to your antenna! I did point out that hanging branch seemed awfully close, but of course mister police newbie here knew better than to flank the guardrail – oops! So long aerial!"

"Ha-ha, I'm dying with laughter. Someone remind me why is she with us? Your best fwiend fowevew wouldn't have you?"

"Momo would welcome me gladly, it's just that in Izuru's car the radio is down again, and I had promised Kusaka-kun he could listen to my last compilation on the way."

"Which he has. For several hours now. How I wish my radio was down too."

"Shut your trap, you street rat. You're to musical taste what Toshiro is to sense of humour."

_Hang on._ His forehead hunched in anticipation of upcoming major headache, Toshiro leans over the driver's seat to cast Rukia a scorching glare. "What's that supposed to – and it's _Hitsugaya_, by the way."

"Tch. Indeed."

Disregarding entirely the silver-haired prodigy's intermission, Renji carries on with his Rukia-teasing relentlessly. "Okay then, you wanna play, I can play: you are to breasts what Matsumoto is to watermelons!"

"… that didn't even make sense!"

"Oh, so you wish."

"It didn't!"

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too."

"Did n – "

_Oh, _for the love of all things holy! "How long till we get there yet?" Toshiro spits through gritted teeth, a low growling sound dying at the pit of his throat in the process.

"Did – huh? Mh, I'd say one hour more, midget. Roughly. With my dexterous driving we might take even less!"

"Assuming Renji doesn't get us killed first, that is."

"Ya wanna walk there, Kuchiki? 'Cause that can be arranged."

"Like you'd ever do that to your boss's precious little sis. Face it, I've got you wrapped around my finger!"

"Speaking of fingers, guess which one I'm gonna raise on the count of three…"

"Keep your hands on the wheel, moron!"

"… two…"

"You'll really get us killed! Stop that!"

"… one – oh, shit!"

_Thud._

"What the hell did I say about minding the sodding TREES?"

"Well, the antenna is long gone. 's not like there's much more a branch could break."

Shifting on his side of the backseat for the first time in what feels like hours (Toshiro was starting to think the mind-numbing endless repeat of Rukia's compilation had lulled him into peaceful sleep), Sojiro ventures a cautious: "Guys, don't you… what is this noise?"

_Wrrung._ _Wrrung._ Teal eyes squint in enquiry. This is definitely not right.

Ages elapse before Renji lets out a noncommittal: "Huh… seems like a bough got pretty affectionate. It clung to the back tag."

Realization sinks in the blink of an eye. "Does this mean we'll have to bear this damned noise for an hour more?" Toshiro shrieks, unadulterated horror resounding in his tone.

"I could try a lil' slewing around to get rid of it if ya want me t – "

"Fuck NO!"

"Just drive on, Abarai."

"Aye sir!"

Toshiro sighs. _Bloody fanfuckingtastic._ If this is the trip, what's the holiday going to be like?

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**Just a lame little thingy that was needed to make ground for what's coming up in next chapter. ;-) **

**Thank you ALL for reviewing, especially FullmetalKeyblade-13 whose words made my heart leap in my throat with joy! *-* **


	18. Seventh

**Alright… *blush* this chap took quite longer than intended, huh? I'm so very sorry about the long wait, real life kept ca****lling and calling till time came I could no more ignore it. /**

**For FullmetalKeyblade-13, Kiki, MelancholyDreams, SillyWQ, kuroshiro28 and Deijinn who commented last chapter, THANKS does not suffice. As I said multiple times already, you and no one else are what keeps me writing. **

**Thanks to all those amazing people who fav'd and added me to their alerts list, too. *-***

**Never give up hope: next chapter coming up, sooner or later! Thank you all again for putting up with awful me. **

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* * *

If someone, anyone turned up to him and asked how things are going, Ichigo would not be sure of the most sincere comeback to offer. All in all, he muses, eyes fixed on the blazing tongues of dancing fire and rivulets of smoke swirling up to the heavens in the dead of night, nothing catastrophic has happened so far.

Notwithstanding…

"Never have I been bullied by the marching band at summer camp!"

The veiled accusation is met with a roar of catcalls and a strained: "Dammit, Momo! You just had to spill it, didn't you?"

Taking in the general hilarity, Ichigo lets the corners of his lips quirk in a soft smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, still drawn to the flickering of the bonfire. Upon sensing a barely-there pressure on his forearm, the redhead rouses from his fantasy and gives Rukia a more convinced smirk. Too bad the raven-haired girl doesn't look convinced in the slightest.

Stuff it. Ichigo can't help the lively derailing of his thoughts.

The morning prior, on this very shore, something…

Toshiro had just gotten out of the water, salty droplets tracing unreadable paths on his now faintly tanning skin, swimming trunks drenched and dripping. The contrast between cool water and sunbathed beach had him shivering like a helpless… well, _kid_, Ichigo considers with a pale hint of a grin stirring his lips. It was that moment, that picture who triggered the redhead's – what? protectiveness? affection? basic need to reach out and pet and stroke and just _touch?_ – whatever. All he knows is he just couldn't avoid stepping up to Toshiro standing on the foreshore and offer the boy a towel to wrap himself up in.

And so far so good. Thing is…

The memory causes Ichigo to sink his teeth in his bottom lip.

A sidelong, crooked smile had been Toshiro's thanksgiving as the med student laid the towel on the prodigy's shoulders. That smile… his hair, the way silver brands had stuck to his temples, and aquamarine eyes shone in the sunlight under wet, curvy lashes… all that had reminded Ichigo of something. Of the days back when they – back when it was normal for them to…

And then he just couldn't let go. Ichigo had draped the towel around the footballer's slim form and let his arms rest there, stroking the sparkling damp skin through the way too rough, undeserving fabric. Drying Toshiro from the head down, rubbing his arms affectionately, swinging on his heels to bring his own bare chest in touch with the other's backside, the thick layer of cloth the only thing separating them – all that, all _that_ had sent shivers down Ichigo's spine and fuelled him to push his luck, follow his instinct.

"Never have I fucked my best pal into the mattress!" Renji's cheerful dare reaches the ginger's ears.

_Oh._

A long beat. He hesitates. Hazel eyes seek impulsively teal blue ones, only to find them open wide and totally unshielded. They exchange a brief agreeing glance across the flames, Toshiro's cheeks flushing scarlet in the orange light.

That same blush had crept over the whiz kid's features the previous day once Ichigo had finally withdrawn, suddenly self-conscious, a murmured "sorry" leaving his lips as he stepped back. No matter how just, how natural it had felt to him – Ichigo had sensed Toshiro stiffen in obvious discomfort as they embraced, and realized he'd long lost the right to show the boy how much he cared. _Why_ would he still care though was a whole issue of its own.

"Ow, damn you stupid pineapple! That was ages ago!"

_Huh?_ Ichigo's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Grinning, Renji casts his former roommate a knowing glance, which morphs into a wink as the policeman turns to Toshiro. "Consider yourselves avenged!"

Meanwhile Momo and Izuru, both stepping forth inside the circle with guilty looks on their faces, struggle to make up excuses. "We were, what, fifteen at the time?"

"And that was confidential, Abarai, you git."

"Besides, we didn't even go all the way! I mean – "

"You mean Izuru wasn't _up_ for the job, huh?" Renji leers none too subtly.

"Well, actually…"

"Momo! I forbid you to go there!"

"Wha? Oh no, now you have to spit it! Even pretty boy here is holding his breath!"

"That's right! I never heard the details of this myself!"

"Not you too, Rukia! This is just mean."

"Ya only reap what you sow, girl."

…

Through the flames they lock eyes again. Ichigo gives a sheepish, unsure smile Toshiro replies to in kind.

* * *

Only two days of vacation to go when it happens.

It's all in slow motion at first, the girls running off secretively to mind their business, Renji stalking them in a pitiful cap-and-sunglasses attire, Izuru and the jerk vanishing to go do the shopping – there, Ichigo realizes, they are alone. Utterly, undeniably alone, like in, just the two of them, for the very first time since Toshiro left his place (which, for the record, happened the moment some damn corrupted doctor declared he was fit to get back to living on his own in that small crammed apartment with the jerk – alright, Ichigo hasn't quite accepted it yet, so what? It's just normal to be feeling a little lonely since one of his closest friends practically dashed as far from him as physically possible at the first given chance, right?).

The tent feels impossibly small as Toshiro, knees bent to his chest, starts off in a cool, if wavering, voice. "You lied."

"What about?"

"The game. Yesterday, on the beach. You didn't… step forth."

Okay, so apparently they are discussing that. Ichigo had not seen it coming, but all in all he should be able to live with it. Right? "Nor did you. B'sides, that was no lie. You said yourself I'm not your best pal. That you don't need a bff at all in fact, and if anything, that would be Kusaka. So, unless you're keeping something from me…"

He trails off – no point in finishing a thought which just gives him the creeps anyway. There is no misunderstanding Toshiro's reaction either, as the prodigy lowers his head to stare intently at his close drawn knees. "Right. This was a bit lame of me, wasn't it."

The tone is dead quiet, no intonation whatsoever. Ichigo feels like the words next leaving his own mouth are gaining in weight, stretching the air between them and lengthening as they are freed, bearing their thick foggy quality to do away with all lingering gentleness, and peace, and pretence. "Would you have wanted me to step forth?"

Toshiro shrugs, but it doesn't work. It's too loud. _Flap. Flap._ Can't work. Too heavy. "It doesn't really matter."

"But would you?"

They are getting closer as they speak, though there's no saying how it's happened or who started it, if either started it at all. Teal orbs are quivering with lights so feeble the eye can hardly catch, but the soul feels clearly, and dreads. "Your timing really is something…"

" 'Cause I feel like stepping forth right now if you're with me."

Shivers. The tent is small, so small, so warm. The ground feels solid and comfortable and calm. There is no bonfire now, but the flames are still there, all across Toshiro's face, glowing orange and shadowing the want there. The paralyzing fear. "What are you saying?"

What's he saying. The hell he knows. Ichigo breathes on the whiz kid's lips, and there really is no better place to be alive on earth. Still, cautiousness has it he at least attempts to restrain, resist the perfect combination of time and space and the underlying pattern in the air, the sinuous hissing of the world around them that's only urging him to go, go, go take it 'cause it's not coming around quite this good ever again. "I'm not gonna try if you're not game, just – "

"Let's set something straight." Toshiro shifts, the whip in his voice flares. "This is no game, Ichigo."

Fuck, he's breathless. They both are. "I know. Didn't mean it like this."

"Then how did you mean it?" There's a raspy edge to the prodigy's tone now, like a clawed paw carving its feral print on his breathing.

But it's late. It's over.

They both have known it for ages when it happens.

It's Ichigo who leans forward first, but it's just as well; Toshiro meets him eagerly, further than halfway. Their lips make a way they've memorized through years of practicing an attraction that used to be freer than this, never quite this cautious. The difference is all in the way they gasp, as though every tiny puff of air causes the score to go down on either side. No winner kisses like this, with such hopeless abandon.

Treading bold fingers through ice white locks, Ichigo rubs the other boy's scalp with his knuckles, a mute request of possession. Toshiro lays down compliantly and takes the redhead along, their kiss blooming in a soft-hard whirl of prying tongues. Snogging is strange, Ichigo's addled brain muses somewhere in the middle – you can do it again and again and then a bit more, it's never the same and it's never enough. It's a compromise, a torturing price one agrees to pay endlessly in exchange for the immediate pleasures of sex and the bone-deep satisfaction of having someone to call one's own.

Here's when Toshiro pulls his hair sharply to crush their mouths together and Ichigo's mind shuts down obediently.

The smaller boy opens beautifully under him, and yes, _yeah, just like that_, the ginger slides tremulously between parted thighs, bringing their bodies in contact from head to toe. _Mh, gods. _His member twitches interestedly inside his boxers. _So long._ So bleeding long.

Toshiro bucks awkwardly, but they're pressed flush together and it feels amazing nonetheless. Ichigo finds himself short of breath within moments, which is ominously embarrassing to a degree, yet somewhat _right_ too – that he might still afford being out of breath against Toshiro's mouth of all places is quite a feat of its own. The redhead ventures a nonchalant rocking motion; since the other makes no move to push him away he gathers it's okay to take things to the next level and sets to do so by digging his fingers into the smaller boy's hips, effectively prying Toshiro's legs further apart. Muscles trained during years of relentless sport practice clamp hard on the carrot-top's sides, all but yelling their own way at Ichigo to get the hell on with whatever folly it is they're yielding to here. The med student needs no ulterior prompting: a couple sloppier kisses later his left hand is cradling Toshiro's head to cushion his pitiful grinding against the unforgiving soil, while his right hand creeps decidedly down the athlete's body, coming to nestle happily below the snowy head's beltline.

That's when Ichigo realizes something's off.

"Hey…"

Toshiro scrambles to get away, but the redhead straddling him hinders his attempts. Quickly losing his fighting will, the short boy goes stiff as a board, head turned to the side as to flee the other's piercing hazel stare.

"You… you're not…"

A furious blush spreads across the usually pale youth's features. Pulling back to get a better view of his reluctant lover, Ichigo is struck by the foreign look in the elusive aquamarine eyes. Sure enough it's not mere mortification that's dimming their colour, although the ginger is unsure he wants to see more. "We can…" Toshiro shoots him the briefest glance, only to look away soon after. "… if you want, we can… anyway."

Something dies just like that.

Ichigo feels the stammered words soak through his skin like droplets of a heavy, horrific rain. His head starts spinning with the shock of the impact. That Toshiro may not be as into what they're doing as he is now seems so unimportant compared to the cold resignation the boy's proposal is laced with. As if…! "You think I'd do something like that?" Ichigo can't help but spit, even though – he's perfectly aware – that is so not the point. It's written on the footballer's face, the heartless pliancy he'd much rather not be able to decipher, and it's killing him. Worse yet, it's killing _them. _

Toshiro stubbornly refuses to meet his stare, but gives up reiterating his offer.

Wrong. This is undoubtedly wrong, and it's crazy that something like this would happen to them, after all they've been through, but… that Toshiro would even suggest… Ichigo is not thinking straight, his priorities feel completely messed up. There's nothing he can do now but gaze down with cloudy, distant eyes at his lying lover before rising on his feet and crawling out of the tent, the thick hot summer air hitting him like a punch in the gut.

Ichigo barely notices. Sweat breaks on his forehead causing a few orange strands to stick haphazardly, his half-lidded eyes squint in the punishing sunlight, the contrast adding to the blur in his vision making it hard to walk straight.

Not that it matters anyway.

He runs.

* * *

Packing is hardly the end of a journey, Ichigo considers while fixing his stare on the pile of neatly folded sleeping bags tied to the roof of Renji's car. His insides twist uncomfortably at the idea of what's coming in the morning. A five-hours trip back to civilization with no A/C and they're out of beers… _guess it's as good a time as any to start smoking for real._

His knees give out and he slouches against the hood of his former roommate's car. The sky above is liquid and black, only punctuated every now and then by sharp looking bright dots – weird, stars never seem so far and unyielding when gazed at from the city. Ichigo crosses his legs for leverage as an unforeseen shiver runs down his spine. The metal of the coachwork pressing against the small of his back feels scorching hot after staying out in the sun all day, but he doesn't move, oddly reassured by the burn on his skin. _Since_ _this is what we've come to… _

"The weather forecast has it tomorrow's temperatures are going to tip the scale for this season."

The unmistakable sound of footsteps reaches his ears minutes before a thin silhouette comes into view. Ichigo casts a quick look sideways, then shifts to make room next to himself, just in case the smaller boy is feeling companionable. Unlikely, but still. "Sweet." When Toshiro gives no sign of wanting to step closer, the redhead's mouth moves on its own accord. "You really here to talk the weather?"

Damn, it's going all wrong. A stab of guilt pierces through him forcing Ichigo to drop his stare to the ground. They haven't really had a proper conversation in forever, and this is possibly the worst way to start one in the aftermath of yesterday's quake.

With the corner of his eye the med student sees Toshiro shake his head guiltily. "I owe you an explanation."

The meek offer prods Ichigo's shame to the point of no return. "No."

A taut scowl wriggles the prodigy's brow in response. "Of course I – "

"No, you don't." Snapping in a tone of finality, the carrot-top collects his courage and raises his head to lock eyes. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

Silence stretches a gap between them neither feels up to fill for a few moments. His inner struggle clearly visible in the nervous faltering of his stare, Toshiro admits quietly at last: "It'd have been better if you had not made a run for it."

_Checkmate. New game?_ Ichigo chokes out reluctantly: "Yeah. That…"

"So I wouldn't have to do this now." A hollow noise, probably a twig snapping under Toshiro's weight as the boy treads closer, and the athlete comes to rest his back against Renji's car, standing right next to the taller youth.

Ichigo can't help but stiffen at the proximity. No matter how awkwardness-proof their physical interactions should have become by now, such closeness is still a tad challenging outside the bedroom – when it's not wise to act on it anyhow.

"I'm falling for you all over again. That's why I can't."

His breath hitches abruptly.

Waving his hands about uneasily, Toshiro struggles to form the words. "_We_… are a bad idea. It was widely proved by past occurrences, and the lesson still stands." His voice grows steadier yet lowers in volume as the snowy head softly goes on. "With every day I spend away from you, I'm winning my life back. There's no room for threats to my balance, and you're like the absolute biggest. So I can't let you anywhere near where it matters. 'Cause that's where it hurts the most."

The ground beneath them looks solid and uncaring, hence Ichigo can hardly place this ominous feeling of being swallowed up whole. Inside a cold silence is blooming, muffling every breath of life in its wake – this, too, is strange, clashes oddly with the perfectly audible cries of mirth coming from their group of friends, currently busy packing up Izuru's car mere meters away.

The car sways lightly as Toshiro pushes himself upright, his body language most unquestionably declaring the conversation over. Ichigo's befuddled brain starts racing at that, madly chasing after the words that'd work the charm, the words to make him stay.

He never gets to try though – Toshiro's conclusion leaves him frozen on the spot.

"Just don't be sorry. It's not worth it."

A short-lived smile, the ultimate weapon to convince Ichigo this is right, the final effort to keep up appearances. Otherwise, one last fraction of a second to frown at the idiocy, be selfish and see right through the deceit; one last heartbeat and one last chance to be a man, grab the truth, shake it cleared of all bullshit and dare look happiness in the eyes, as terribly though they might shine.

Ichigo blinks and the moment's gone along with Toshiro, whose retreating back marks tonight's timeout.

Sparkling unwittingly above their heads, stars speak. Stars tell everything.

* * *

**.**

* * *

**A/N: this last line was freely adapted from a poem by Aleksandr Blok (namely, **_**"Night. City**__**calmed down"**_**). Do check him out if you will, he had one hell of a way with words. **


	19. Eighth

***nervous chuckle* Ah-Ahem, well. *shameless grin* Better late than never, huh? :D**

**Sorry to keep you all awaiting. This is unedited and hurried and will probably suck big time, but at least it's one step closer to my beloved happy ending. *bad pun mode* And now I won't force you to endure anymore of my crap and just leave you to it. **

* * *

.

* * *

"And you don't think all the branch-ripping you so happily indulged in along the way has _anything_ to do with your car ditching us in the middle of God-forsaken nowhereville? So sorry I ever doubted your brains, you lame excuse for a, a – whatever! I can't bring myself to call you a man, let alone a policeman since you put us into this mess!"

Leaning over the smoking hood with what Toshiro must presume is his Unfaltering Concentration Mode face on, Renji screws his eyes tight shut. "Will you. _Please._ Stop yelling for a bloody sec? I'm trying to think here."

Promptly going along with Rukia's teasing, Momo lets out a breathy murmur. "Well, now that's a first."

"You girls are really being helpful." A supreme snort of annoyance, then the tattooed man turns to lay pleading eyes on the two standing silhouettes by his side. "Berry? Midget? You're the smart ones. Save the day?"

This is, Toshiro muses distractedly, his head cocked to the side in a for-the-sake-of-appearances pensive pose, exactly the kind of things he enjoys the very least. Must have something to do with the scorching sunburn his bare and so very unaccustomed shoulders are currently suffering from, though being punched square on the nose by one of the few opponents he's no game to face – that is, _car mechanics_ – does little to lighten the mood. Eventually resolving to take matters upon himself (Ichigo's silence, though a practiced leitmotiv these past, say, 24 hours, is really getting embarrassing), the former whiz kid speaks in a flat, unperturbed voice. "There's smoke coming out of the very place the engine is supposed to be. Doesn't strike me as a good sign."

"Really? !" Renji's exasperated reaction comes predictably enough. Toshiro stays unfazed – sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, as goes the saying. "Man, you're all useless. If only I had kept Pretty Face with me, instead of letting him run off with Blondie! Bet he'd know what to do ten times better than you pansies."

Momo is ever so quick to seize the opportunity of a change of topic as soon as that presents itself. "Speaking of which… you don't find it a little suspicious how eager Sojiro-kun sounded to take off with Izuru, instead of bunking in Pineapple's car with the rest of us?"

"Turns out he bested us all there." Toshiro can't help but scoff quietly.

The prodigy's scorn is barley taken into account as Rukia waves dismissively in his direction, visibly keen on her girlfriend's intriguing assumption. "The two of them have seemed to be getting pretty close over time, what with sharing a tent for so many nights and all. Could it be…?" The brunettes exchange eloquent looks.

"No way. Ichimaru-sensei is the very reason why Izuru breathes anymore!"

"But wasn't he always kind of the abusive lover? I'd bet that gets tiring in time."

"You think Sojiro-kun succeeded in showing Izuru the bright lights of freedom and self-respect awaiting at the end of the gloomy tunnel that's Gin?" Momo's eyes are glowing dreamily by now.

Her partner in crime only nods knowingly. "That's a way to put it."

"Excuse me, my fair ladies, but just how is this otherwise extremely interesting and pressing inquiry of any help at the present?" Renji's barking tone clashes curiously with his lofty wording as he points at the fuming car before them, both eyebrows arched matter-of-factly. "Besides, your theories are so far-fetched it's paining my ears to listen."

Being interrupted – by a man nonetheless – is at the very top of Momo's _Don'ts_ Chart, Toshiro knows from experience. His cousin's venomous comeback does not surprise him in the slightest. "Then don't!"

The young Kuchiki raises a hand to placate her accomplice and leans towards Renji with a devious look in her eyes, all the while swinging on the balls of her feet in impatience. "What is your guess?"

"Guys!"

Toshiro's heart leaps oh-so-very discreetly in his chest, an unmistakable though unwanted reaction. _Guess he wasn't dozing on the spot after all._

Crossing his arms as if putting distance between himself and his friends' idiocy, Ichigo gives a characteristic eyeroll. "I can't believe we're discussing this while we all should be much more concerned about being stuck in the desert for who knows how long with as few provisions as Momo's unbecoming 'fancy a snack?' attitude left us with, _but_, come _on_… we don't even know for sure if Kusaka does men!"

Toshiro chokes on his spit. _What? !_ So much for appreciating the carrot-top's common sense! A fierce urge to strangle his ex lover for taking part in the general folly overwhelms him, and the footballer has to take a few deep breaths to cool off. _A friggin' poor joke_, that's what his life has felt like ever since the little European debacle.

Three pairs of wide, disbelieving eyes meet the redhead's protest, one message distinctly conveyed by all. "He combs his hair, Berry-kun." Momo retorts on everyone's behalf at last. "And by 'comb' I don't mean that barbaric 'thread my fingers through it because I'm too cool and manly for conditioning' you guys all stick by."

"Thought you didn't believe such thing as sexual orientation even existed, Ichigo." Rukia stomps the boot in, a sinister sparkle shining through those dark pits of hers. (Toshiro is constantly baffled by the fiery Kuchiki's offhand digs. Seriously – and not that he cares anyway – but Ichigo does seem to find himself at the receiving end of quite a number of poisonous darts as of late.) "Had a change of heart?"

The atmosphere thickens just like that. Toshiro shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other, as Ichigo's perceivable stiffening and the following silence are brusquely disrupted by the tattooed cop's incredulous whine. "What, you're shitting me! If anyone here is a living testament to bisexuality, that's…" Then Renji must take in the dangerous look on his former roommate's face, because he trails off abruptly.

_Thank god._ Toshiro draws a deep breath. He's prone to wish they're all leaving it be now –

"Well, Shiro-chan can solve this for us in the blink of an eye, can't he?"

_Uh-oh._ Everyone but Ichigo stares down at him hungrily. _Bloody unbelievable!_ The small genius shakes his head in defeat. To go this far for the sake of petty gossiping…! "You already know I won't, so spare yourselves the pain of trying." He shoots his friends down bitingly, opportunely overlooking his own curiosity – the topic of Sojiro's sexuality has been bothering him too since forever, but there's no way he's associating with the snoopy girls anyhow. Better to drive the conversation towards safer shores, Toshiro resolves. "How about we actually do something to get out of this mess now? I've had enough sleeping on the outside for a lifetime, I was planning on lying in a real bed tonight, thank you very much."

This finally succeeds in diverting the ladies attention. Momo claps her hands together and all but jumps on the spot. "A real bed! Ooooooh, my… I miss it so much!"

"Don't tell me! My back hasn't felt quite the same since we left town." Scratching her elbow viciously, Rukia grimaces. "And I itch all over. Damn bugs."

_Who was the camping pariah again?_ Toshiro muses with inward amusement, but decides against voicing his triumph. "It can't be that hard to find a mechanic around here. We just need to reach the nearest town."

"Today is a Sunday, no garage will be in service. We'd better start looking for a place to crash till we fix the car."

The sound of Ichigo's voice, louder in his ears than it has been since their clumsy _liason_ in the tent, causes Toshiro's skin to prickle and the fine hairs on his arms to stand. Aggravated by both his stupid bodily reactions and the calendar oversight, the athlete winces – such move is not lost on the ginger head, who backs up a pace to give him room.

Self-consciousness and pure, undiluted guilt radiate off the medic's body in waves. _Oh, for god's sake._ Toshiro bites ferociously on his tongue to keep from screaming out his frustration. Honestly, Ichigo can't go on being like this around him. The whole sodding world will notice.

Cracking on the man's lips in the sudden stillness, Renji's shit-eater grin makes a nice save. "Leave it to me then. I have ways you proletariats can only imagine."

* * *

"So? Did I or did I not tell you I'm a man for all necessities?"

The motel room looks every bit as expected of a cranky heap of wooden planks put together by chance or misfortune in the midst of an otherwise untouched wasteland. Toshiro is standing on the threshold with Ichigo right on his side, both blokes knowing better than to step food inside first – it's not like their opinion is of any consequence anyway, since Renji is clearly aiming his ego outburst at the picky ladies of their little messed up gang.

"The place is not bad." Momo concedes, moving surreptitiously about the narrow room. "Not the Ritz Hotel, but it's still an improvement compared to the cold dirt we slept on these past few nights."

The young Kuchiki offers her support promptly. "And my bug detector is laying low, which is good news."

Just as the words leave her mouth, a sinister swish catches Toshiro's attention. "Maybe your bug detector is not set to cover cockroaches. I'm fairly positive the bedspread just moved."

Several minutes of bug-watching in perfect stillness elapse before Rukia chirps gaily. "Well, Momo and I are taking the other room then! Prob solved, see you lot at dinner!" Here the couple bolts, giggling their way out with a malice that sends chills down Toshiro's spine. Why does it always feel like the girls are Up To Something, again?

Ichigo's neutral voice shakes him out of his upset brooding. "Good one, Renji. How did you even manage?"

The pineapple head props down on a twin bed and lowers his gaze to the ground, sighing resignedly. "I gave Kuchiki-taichou a ring and whined till he took pity on me and found us a place." He admits in a small voice, eyes glued to his shuffling feet with an utterly forlorn aura ghosting above his slouched shoulders.

_Hn. Figures._ Inwardly snorting at the pitiful display, Toshiro cocks an eyebrow. "Back to the honorifics, are you?"

Renji lets out a tortured whimper at that. "Taichou won't allow me to call him Byakuya again after a couple accidents occurred…"

"You mean, like that time your neighbours called the police 'cause we were being too loud and the poor man had to rush in your aid?"

That's when Toshiro's heart skips a beat (or two, or seventy-thousands). Memories of the day in question – that was the very first time Ichigo broke in his personal bubble, _Renji's congrats party, how could he, how could _he_, how could he bring _that_ up now? _– come flooding to his brain, crowding it with their heavy load of swirling emotions. It'd be so much easier, the silver-haired boy realizes as what little tan he achieved over the past days leaves his face, if recalling the start of his relationship with Ichigo only brought on bitterness and regret. But there's this sweet fuzziness, this soft cloud of warmth lingering above the images from his memory that won't leave him alone. It's like all the angst was carried away by merciful waves of forgiveness and drowned in the fog of time, leaving a somewhat innocent trail of light in its wake. Toshiro scoffs under his breath. _My, am I getting soft in my old age. _A minuscule part of him winces at the sheer lenience he's capable of feeling for a whole different reason, though, one Toshiro is not ready to dwell over, nor deal with the consequences of.

(If it tastes so sweet, it's because it's been under the bridge. But o_ver and done with_ is not an idea he feels ready to wrap his mind around as of yet.)

"You know it wouldn't really hurt to keep your astounding memory skills to yourself every once in a while." Renji spits sourly, shooting a dark look the carrot-top's way. Good thing the lively cop was always totally inept at sulking; his sharp features have brightened up before long, and a giant smile is plastered across his face the moment he leaps up, moving sparkling eyes from one of his friend to the other. "So! Time to go get a feel of the town so we don't waste any time finding a garage tomorrow. Who's coming?"

The reception is colder than if the redhead had suggested to go deer hunting in the night. It's not that the proposal is hateful in itself, as much as it obviously requires for them – either Ichigo or himself – to make a choice, since the "both" option is so very out of question. A road trip together with neutral friends he can stand, but going clubbing and jammin' in the night like old buddies is far more than Toshiro can force himself to endure for the sake of Not Embarrassing The Others.

Finally Ichigo rips them all out of the impasse, though his solution is not the likes of what Toshiro had been expecting. "You two go, I need to make a phone call and it may take a while. I don't wish to keep you."

The med student shifts his weight none too casually against the doorframe and looks straight into Renji's eyes. Some kind of understanding passes, lightning fast, between the former roommates, leaving the snowy head no choice but to wonder in silence. "Fine!" The taller redhead pipes up at last, throwing a muscular arm around Toshiro's shoulders for good measure. "Come with me and uncle Renji's gonna make a real man outta you, right, midget?"

"Tch. I think I'll let the torn branches jutting out of your car's hood answer this one for me." The footballer mutters grumpily, yet lacking genuine malice. He's too grateful for Renji's mere presence, not to mention his constant efforts to quell any tension that may threaten to rise because of goddamned unsolved issues, to harbour real contempt. "Let's go."

Toshiro is pretty sure Ichigo's arm brushes against his shoulder as they cross each other on the way out, but he adamantly refuses to pay the accident any heed. _Stop it. You're being ridiculous. The _both_ of you. _

Speak of good company.

* * *

They're stumbling through the motel entrance, the taller man leaning heavily on the other's shoulders for support (Renji in a fit of giggles equals Totally Useless Renji, Toshiro mentally stores for future reference), when it happens.

The girls' bedroom is conveniently located down the main corridor on the ground-floor ("just in case something occurs and we need to vacate the building!", as Momo had put it), and the door is only half closed when the two boys pass it by on their way to the central staircase.

"So I get it things didn't go all that brilliantly when we left you two alone that afternoon, huh?"

Toshiro stops dead in his tracks.

Over a startled Renji's moan of protest ("Da hell, midget? Give a man a warnin'!"), Ichigo's voice sounds strained, as though he's just choked on his words. "You did that on purpose?"

Sharing a flat with a horde of loud freaks has its bright sides; for one, you become awfully aware of all those traits that make each their own person, such as footsteps, scent, speaking quirks. Toshiro couldn't mistake Rukia's snort of resentment if he tried. "Don't give me that outraged look, we're all just worried about you. Since he's been back, you know, after he spent that bunch of days at your place, it felt almost like things were going to be right again. We thought you just needed a little prodding, and… did the prod."

"Thanks a fucking load." A weak groan accompanies the ginger's retort, only partially muffled by the thin barrier of cheap wood. "As you can't have missed, we're currently not even speaking."

Sensing the pressure building, Renji straightens up to support himself. Toshiro shoots him a quick grateful look, then touches the left side of his face to the wall and presses an ear against the door jamb.

"I feel bad just watching you two. To think you used to be the closest among us." A creaking noise, probably Rukia sitting down on the bed, then a condescending sigh. "Just what did you do to screw it up this time?"

Sarcasm flows freely with Ichigo's comeback. "You have no idea how comforting it is to see you're automatically placing the blame. Your unfaltering support means the world to me, Rukia."

"Sorry." The young Kuchiki has the sense to sound sheepish for a second. Insincerely so: " 'cept you did blow it again, huh?"

In the gap of silence that follows, Toshiro can practically feel Ichigo stiffen. He's not sure whether sleeping with someone provides an even greater intimacy than living together, but this twisted sort of connection between them is no news. For one brief paralyzing moment he holds his breath, suddenly wondering – what if this strange link is mutual and Ichigo can tell he's shamelessly eavesdropping? – but the redhead hesitantly replying dissipates his fears. "I don't even know. I thought…"

Ichigo's breath hitches, and Toshiro takes it as an accusation of sorts. "Nevermind. It's beyond repair now."

Guilt stabs the small prodigy in the back, sneaky and bloodthirsty. _Am I really…? Am I…?_ His thought process feels uncommonly hindered, which Toshiro can only blame on his synapses being overly busy sending shocks down his shaky limbs.

_Am I letting the burden fall on Ichigo's shoulders alone? _

He's still struggling to get a hold on his brain gears working when the familiar smacking noise of Rukia's corporal punishments reaches his ears. "Nothing is beyond repair, you damn melodramatic nitwit. I mean, if you and Toshiro can't be fixed, then Renji's car doesn't stand a chance. And I'm not spending more than one night in this filthy hole."

"Thought she said the place was okay!" The tattooed policeman mumbles, struggling to keep his voice low through his angry fit. "Wait till that ungrateful half-woman learns it was her precious nii-san who found it…" Only then does Renji notice his supposed interlocutor isn't really paying attention. "Midget? Ya okay?"

Toshiro is not sure exactly how he's supposed to be feeling about what he's just heard (assuming he's even supposed to be feeling anything), though "okay" is definitely not a word he'd be incline to use. His feet make a choice of their own and take him as far as possible from the spot his little sand castle of self-righteousness was wiped away by one incomplete line.

_I don't even know. I thought… _

"Na, midget! Where're ye off to?" No amount of Renji's (quite comical, actually) shushed yelling stops his pacing.

_Just what did you think,__ Ichigo? _

* * *

On the top floor, Toshiro had noticed right upon first entering the motel, stretches a bare terrace the same width as the basement. It must have been thought as a nice spot for star-gazing originally, then abandoned the moment it became clear that no passerby who was forced to bunk in such a cheap lair for one night or two would ever be seduced by the perspective of petty nighttime luxuries.

At the sight of a standing Ichigo frowning down at his mobile phone's display, Toshiro feels a smirk bloom on his own lips unwittingly. _Not the nighttime luxuries type, though… _

"Am I interrupting something?"

Judging by the abrupt start in his shoulders set, the ginger had not heard him approaching. Round hazel eyes scan Toshiro's form bemusedly, seemingly doubting themselves. "Huh, no. 's just that stupid tool won't cooperate." Ichigo waves his mobile in the air matter-of-factly. The awkwardness of his movements and general wariness painted on his face are not lost on the footballer, who nibbles his lower lip hesitatingly. _Can't blame him for being taken aback. This is fucking messed up. _

Fighting his own urge to turn and run, Toshiro moves his first unsure steps across the balcony – it's hard to miss how Ichigo cringes and presses back against the sill reflexively. This tears a maddened grunt off the whiz kid's lips. _Seriously, now._ That the same man who's had his cock up Toshiro's ass in countless occasions would be freaked out by their mere sharing an opened space crosses the limit line of ridiculous. Growing confident, the smaller boy covers the last few paces separating him from the redhead and leans over the balcony sill, right by his side though out of touching range. _This should do._ "You didn't fuck up." Toshiro blurts it out curtly. He's well aware of how Ichigo winces at the words, but it can't be helped: if he beats around the bush now, they may never get to the bloody point. "Not this time, at least."

Their eyes don't dare meet. Toshiro's are fixed on the ground several floors below, while the medic's wander aimlessly about before setting on the low skyline, a curious dreamy look reflected in them. "You'd think I should know better than to trust Rukia's discretion by now, yet I fall for it every time." He lets out at last, his tone softer than Toshiro had anticipated.

"She didn't say a thing, I just stumbled on a right time right place circumstance." The prodigy corrects, and the full irony of those words hits him hard as they leave his mouth, which twitches in a harsh half-smile. "Isn't that a first."

Toshiro can't bring himself to watch Ichigo yet, but he's not surprised to hear him mock snort beside him. "No shit."

The silence falling over their heads now is just a hair more comfortable than before, and the small athlete ventures to relax a fraction, elbows pointed firmly on the sill and chin resting against his entwined palms. Unexpectedly gentle, the nightly breeze ruffles the white bangs framing his face, and Toshiro tugs his hair back with a lazy sweep of his hand.

Ichigo's voice comes from afar, distant and cool yet downright physical, like an unforgiving gust of air. "Did you really think I'd take advantage of you like that?"

It takes him a whole minute to put two and two together, and even when he does, part of Toshiro's mind refuses to accept Ichigo might have been dwelling on that crucial error all this time. "That's _not_ taking advantage. Not if I'm volunteering."

"Then how do you call it?"

The young prodigy's eyes are unfocused, lost in the pitch dark surrounding them, as he gives a nonchalant shrug. "Being a good buddy? Or fuckbuddy at that."

"You think this – you really think that's what it was about?" The coil of subtle tension in the air snaps all at once, Ichigo pulling himself from the ledge with a jerkily sway of his hips. His new stance is the likes of which demand full attention, as is the shaky underlying in his enraged voice. The snowy head has no choice but to comply him and turn his focus. "You're not some cheap sex toy to me, Toshiro. You are…" Ichigo's resolve falters briefly as teal eyes bore into his skull, daring him to finish his thought. "… you were my lover."

Something in the meek rephrasing sets Toshiro off like fireworks. "Well, excuse me for not being too good at reading through your inexplicable mood swings. One can't tell what the hell is up with you half the time!"

He's not playing fair, he knows it – and it reads on the carrot-top's flabbergasted face to boot. "You're shitting me, right? I told you I – " It's plain to see Ichigo's hands are all but itching to grab Toshiro's arm and spin him around, as both a tension outlet and a means to force eye contact. The redhead resists temptation by shoving his curled fists down his pockets, his shoulders hunched forth as though keeping that lithe body perfectly upright was too much to ask of them under such circumstances. "I made my feelings pretty damn clear back in December. And I know you probably filed that night away under 'all-time lows to forget', but you can't exactly go on and pretend like it never happened!" The medic's voice raises an octave as he carries on. "Dammit, Toshiro. I'm not letting you turn the tables and have it sound like I don't care, not anymore. Not when I obviously…"

A minuscule flicker of something passes in golden brown eyes, though Toshiro can't put a name to it no matter how he squints – it's gone before long anyway.

Ichigo presses his lips together, but a frustrated huff escapes them nonetheless. "Have you got the slightest idea how I felt when you were hospitalized?"

That's all it takes to throw Toshiro off balance.

By the time his former lover regains the courage to speak, his tone has softened considerably, words drenched in heavy nostalgia despite the tiny smile twisting his features. "I couldn't seem to leave your bedside for more than a few minutes without my hands starting to sweat and my feet fidgeting to go back. Did you ever know I slept right there on the floor, the night before you were discharged?"

The athlete can only shake his head in mute astonishment. This is a side of the story, a side of _their_ story he never once –

"Once you were back at your flat I got paranoid. Kept wondering whether I'd even get to see you again, what with Yoruichi-sensei's proposal and all." This last line sounds like a milestone marking the end of safe road and start of the wild lands, vast and lonely and totally unlike anything they could ever call 'us'. "Are you… have you made up your mind yet?"

Toshiro draws in a deep breath that echoes Ichigo's shaky outtake. It's just the right thing, that question now of all times, what with the two of them being alone and able to finally, finally discuss it like it means something, as if –

Ichigo's mobile picks that exact instant to come alive and chirp urgently. The redhead's eyes widen, his lips offer a mute "sorry", but Toshiro sense it go away, fade the moment the call is taken and a stiff female voice resounds – _I know this, I know, Tatsuki, was it always Tatsuki? makes sense, makes a whole load of sense. a tough one indeed, no wonder. no wonder_ – Toshiro has to avert his gaze and physically will himself to desert the scene, disregarding the flash of hurt in Ichigo's restless orbs.

He crawls back down the stairs and wishes he were deaf not to hear the ginger's tone gently switch.

* * *

"That bad, huh?"

Toshiro stares straight ahead, mindfogged.

Sitting on the ground at the foot of his bed, Renji rolls his eyes. "You two are so painfully obvious, really. It's a wonder how you're not married and adopting kids by now, given you and Berry are so alike you make the closest to a perfect match I've ever seen."

The whiz kid takes a moment to elaborate, then opts for shrugging it off with a sideways smirk. "What can I say. Am still too young to be called a mommy."

Renji snickers heartily. "Ha! Wanna know something, brat? I was not all that impressed by you in the beginnin'… couldn't see why Berry and the others seemed so damn fond of ya. But I think I get it a li'l more now." A cocky grin blooms on the cop's face, just like every time he's preparing for a stroke of genius. "You're like the poshest meal on a specialty menu. Very few can afford you, so people spread bad rumors to convince themselves you're not really worth it anyway. 's like that old thing 'bout, how did that go?, the crow and the mistletoe? Coyote and cherries?" Renji scowls, so deeply intent it's fun to watch. "There were no bananas involved, were there."

I expected the grapes were sour anyway, _said the little fox turning tail on the high-up vine. _Toshiro smirks. Somehow it doesn't feel polite to correct Renji as the redhead is being his uttermost nicest since they met.

"Well, that, anyway. I just meant – hell, you must know what I meant better than me, you're the bloody genius around here – that, that it's not so bad ta hang out with you after all. You're a damn funny little bastard when, you know, when you're not being a prissy conceited git." The pineapple head flashes his trademark shit-eater smile. "Which is like nine tenths of the time, mind ya."

Warmth spreads ever so hesitantly deep down Toshiro's very core. The comfort good friends provide in times of need is something he will hardly get used to, let alone take for granted. _Nice to know you exist, Abarai, you senseless retard._ Needless to mention, he says otherwise. "I'll admit you're confusing me here. Am I supposed to thank you for being a tad less insulting than usual, overlooking the fact you practically compared me to an escargot of some sort?"

"An escor – wha?"

Toshiro is just rolling his eyes – "Nevermind." – when the door cracks open with a feeble whine.

That something is wrong with Ichigo is painfully obvious from his atypically pale complexion and blank stare. Renji is not really the observant type, though, or simply lacks Toshiro's finesse; he takes their roommate's entrance as his cue to change the subject and give the conversation a merry twist. "Yo, mate! Midget and I here were just goin' through the chat we had with the mechanic this afternoon, you know, 'bout the car and all. Old chap was totally out of it too, I'm telling ya. Completely, batshit crazy. Guess you're bound to lose it someday, growing up in a place like this with no cable porn nor – "

"Guys." Ichigo sounds tired and old, yet again distant – _where is it that he goes everytime?_ Toshiro thinks if he could ever figure this out, the whole Kurosaki mystery would be solved for good – as he saunters almost blindly towards his bed. The way he virtually collapses on it, heavy and miserable and utterly worn out, makes Toshiro shudder and his heart clench as a knot of sickness settles in his belly. "Do you mind it if we call it a night? I'm beat."

After that, the only audible sound is Renji's baffled, "uh, well, sure" muttered in the shadows falling at Ichigo's peremptory flicking the switch off. Night pours itself over their heads in the blink of a bloodshot eye.

* * *

_I thought…_

* * *

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* * *

**Special thanks to Kiki for the endless pestering. It was overly due and much appreciated. **


	20. Ninth

**Yeah, that's right: I felt so bad about having you wait so long for last update that I got off my lazy arse and came up with next chapter in record time. Don't I deserve cookies now? *_* **

**Seriously, cookies are fine, but if you want to make my day - and make sure I keep this up, also *insert evil chukle here* - I trust you to know your options. As I always say, feel the love, spread the love, feed the love: review! :D**

**To the ones who did last chapter: thank you all, SirenShadow, Kiki, ToshiNoTenshi and Psychoscot (new readers ^^ hi there!). Your reviews were all amazing, although I feel like pointing out that Melanch0lyDreams's one hit the infamous nail on the head: the things you said about my fic and the way Mika's lyrics fit in the context match precisely how I feel. Special thanks to you for grasping the sense of my work so utterly well. *_* **

**Enough with the ranting. Thanks to everyone (I can't believe there's so many of you!) who fav'd and added me to their alert lists. This chap is out because of you too.**

* * *

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* * *

When Goat Face closed the clinic to chase his childish dream of diving into the world of public service, Ichigo blamed it on a particularly unnerving yet overall ordinary mid-life crisis. Later on, when Kurosaki senior demanded his son leave the campus to move into their old, ludicrously big family manor, claiming that "rule #1 for a clubtender, own a house fit to party in!", Ichigo went along with his old man's eccentricities for the sake of not troubling him when he was evidently nearing a mental breakdown.

But now, now that living all alone in that huge empty mansion is starting to take the toll, and his whole world has narrowed to the display of his mobile phone, Ichigo fears there might be some hereditary taints his father has kept from him for his own devious amusement. _No way I'd ever become the man he wants me to be out of my sheer will. No way I'd be the same as him – maybe it's a virus, yeah, an infection, some kind of contagious shit affecting the males of our family in their young age and only…_

"Oi, Ichigo. Get a fucking move on already."

Renji is sprawled legs and arms wide on the floor, eyes fixed on the ceiling. That he'd use his first name instead of the usual epithet is a testament to how uncommonly serious he is, and the ginger curls his fists, his body language speaking of hardness and rebuffing. "Nothing good must be brewing for you to invite me over." The red-haired policeman scoffs at the walls before rolling onto his side, facing Ichigo. "Is it what I think it is?"

Golden brown eyes flee the scene to turn sideways, focus themselves on the street down below, beyond the glass. Ichigo's fingers find the shutter wire and begin deftly toying with it, channelling the tension. "Hardly. Got more important stuff to think about."

Caught off guard by both his friend's words and the cracking of his voice, Renji sits up, head cocked to the side in a demonstration of undeterred concern. "More important than dumping Tatsuki and crawling beg for Midget's forgiveness? You're kidding me! Look, if you're making excuses again – "

"Shut up. You know nothing."

"I know what there is to know, alias you and Snow White were bloody made for each other and are only wasting it 'cause you're too dense to see what's good for you and too cowardly to try seize it."

"Dammit, would you just knock it off? I don't need a speaking pineapple on my shoulder telling me what's best – "

"Well, then you shouldn't drag me in if you don't want my help! How am I supposed to – ?"

Ichigo spins abruptly, his whole form shaking with pent-up fury. "What the fuck are you talking about? I never asked for – "

Renji leaps up as well, visibly boiling. "Cut the crap and take your fucking responsibilities for once! I've – hell, Rukia and Momo _and_ I have – told you countless times before this is not just about the two of you, given that we're all both Midget's and your friends. You're giving everyone hell – if you can't tell as much by yourself, then I'll have to point it out. Your behaviour on holiday was revolting at best…"

"I can't – how the hell is that any of your business?"

"… and what's even worse, is making everyone miserable. Why won't you just accept that you'd be much better off together and quit feeling sorry for yourselves already?"

Ichigo has to grab the window sill and hold onto it tightly, lest his indignation have the best of him and shit eat the fan. "Are you just telling me this, or, what?, Momo is brainwashing _him_ at their place as we speak? Is this some wicked set-up by means of which you're hoping to get us to do as you want?"

The affronted expression on Renji's face pisses him off even more than the man's self-righteous interfering. "What a disappointment you're turning out to be, mate. What a fucking giant let-down." The cop's right hand closes reflexively around the butt of his gun, half showing through his leather case. Ichigo is familiar enough with that instinctive move by now not to be freaked out – unlike back when that first started to happen, when Renji's every shift in posture would cause all his friends to get cold feet.

"Believe that it hurts me to say, but you're being an ungrateful baby about the whole thing. None of us is going to put up with your bullshit for much longer."

Ichigo's eyes slide shut on their own accord, giving away under the burden of Renji's threat.

"Plus, you're being monstrously unfair to Tatsuki as well. That poor girl took her chance when Inoue fucked off, and you've led her on ever since. Does she even know why is it that you broke up with Inoue in the first place? Did you tell her 'bout the dreams you kept having when Toshiro was sleeping here at yours? Those dreams haunting you to the point you begged me and taichou to let you stay at the HQ for the night – ring a bell, Berry-kun? You fucking made it my business then, so don't you dare cut me off now only 'cause you've got no use for my help anymore."

Shame, fear, regret slide up Ichigo's body and surface in the form of an angered flush, clashing viciously with his hair colour.

Renji perches himself on the back of the couch, gazing at his host through a curtain of rebel vermillion bangs. There's a darkness in his breath, a graveness to his speech that's making Ichigo's insides churn with emotions he doesn't have a name for. "I've always taken pride in my best pal, always rejoiced that such a bloody brilliant lad would even dream of considering me his peer. And it seems to me I've always relentlessly supported you, huh? Through your sexuality swings, career crisis, family breakups – everything. But, you know what the best part was? That you'd do just the same for me without ever being asked. That's what friendship's all about in the end, ne?" The policeman's eyes narrow to dark slits as his voice grows thicker, hands clenching the fabric with bruising force as the tall man bends over the sofa cushions. "Well, turns out I can't be friends with someone I have no respect for. Worse yet, someone with no respect for themselves nor the ones who love them."

Ichigo's knees buckle dangerously, which brings him to leave his spot by the balcony in favour of a large squashy armchair. Someway through their morning this has begun to feel less like common tongue-lashing and much more like a schism of sorts. The tension that's been eating at him for days now is heightening to its breaking point. It doesn't help one bit that the sodding mobile phone stays quiet and uncaring through it all.

"I know that's harsh of me, but if you can't go back to being the man I used to care for, then I have no interest in sticking around." Renji states with a tone of finality as he pushes himself upright, a stiffness to his movements that wasn't there before.

An ominous, face-splitting grin curves Ichigo's lips in an instant. It must make him look like one of those murderous maniacs from scary movies, if the tattooed man's horror-stricken face is anything to go by.

"If I said I'm going to be a dad, would that make me enough of a man in your eyes?"

The sight of Renji's jaw dropping is only mildly satisfying all things considered, but Ichigo will take what he's offered. "Come _the_ _fuck_ again?" The cop stutters, his mouth dry, eyes threatening to pop out of his skull.

One more longing glance at the inert cell phone as he sinks further into the comfy chair. Then the ginger's head falls, his chin clashing with the collarbone below in a dull _thud. _"Tatsuki's period is late. She's taking a pregnancy test as we speak."

* * *

The funny part is, his mobile does ring eventually. And it's a female voice that breaks into sobs at the other end of the line, although, as Ichigo is just about to learn, tears are shed for multiple reasons.

"I-Ichi… Ichi…"

"Rukia? That you? Calm down, I can't hear a thing."

"Ichigo… Renji, we're… he – "

The mention of his name alone sends chills down your spine. Lord knows you're not in the mood for more of the redhead's bullcrap, after the morning you spent listening to him verbally abusing you in ways that should be plain unconstitutional. A cantankerous sigh leaves your parted lips at the thought of yet another stupid stunt your friends might be plotting to pull, and your voice sounds downright venomous as you reply. "Whatever it is that asshole did, I don't wanna hear it. Had my fair share of Abarai's idiocy to last me a lifetime, thanks a lot."

"Ichigo, listen – "

"What, you two ganged up on me? Well go on ahead with your stupid plans, I give a shit."

There's a muffled noise in the receiver, like a low whine, then a buzz and breath hitching – the sounds of a phone being passed from one hand to another. "Kurosaki."

And your heart stops just like that. Because it's _him._

"We're at the hospital, critical care ward. Abarai was ambushed by some criminal on his way back to the HQ. He got shot in the head."

It's all white noise after that, in your brain and out.

* * *

Fate is ferociously ironical, Ichigo keeps telling himself while rushing through the labyrinth of corridors that is E.R.. Not really telling himself though, since he hasn't been able to form a coherent thought since Rukia called; more like, he's stuck running in circles inside his mind much as he is around the goddamn hospital.

To help people. That's all he's ever, ever since Goat Face told him about his mother, asked for. Yet his friends keep getting hurt because of him, and he can't do a thing about it. He's failing them, one by one, as both a medic and a mate, and this is killing the man he's worked to be all his life.

Renji was right. He got lost.

"Ichigo! Over here!"

Thank god. The carrot-top spots a group of youths standing on the opposite side of the hallway, right outside the ICU, and moves to join them – though his legs feel inexplicably heavier with every step. Must have something to do with the look of open hostility on Momo's face, he realizes, and slows down subconsciously as he the gang comes within earshot.

"Renji was damn lucky to have found nii-san on the phone." Rukia is muttering almost to herself, head bowed, gaze glued to her folded arms. "If he had waited just one more minute to warn nii-san he was heading back, then no one would have known where to… pick him up." She pulls her lower lip between her teeth and shudders, goosebumps visibly breaking on her skin.

"Don't even think about that, darling." Momo slides an arm around the young Kuchiki's waist and gives her hip a reassuring squeeze. "Just be positive. It's going to be alright."

Ichigo draws in a lungful of chemicals-saturated air. The empty sense of abandon rising at his friends giving him the cold shoulder is almost as bad as the chilling dread nestled in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Renji's state. "Anyone care to update me?" His choice of words may seem arrogant, but the tone is so tentative no one has the heart to snap at him.

"It's just as Hitsugaya-kun told you on the phone. Renji had just left your residence and rung the HQ to warn he was free of his appointments and up to take charge, when he was attacked. His aggressor – or aggressors, they have yet to be identified – must have caught him off guard to be able to drag him in an alley and…" Izuru's voice falters at this point, and Ichigo knows he's looking for the least crude way to put it. "… well, aim the gun at him." The blonde finishes timidly.

His choice of words reminds Ichigo of some detail he had not paid heed to until now. "What about Renji's own gun? I know for a fact he had it on when he came to see me this morning. Did they disarm him?"

To his mild surprise – and faint heartstroke – Toshiro steps right into his line of sight and answers, locking eyes. "No, he still had his weapon on when Kuchiki-taichou found him. Apparently they didn't leave him the time to react anyhow."

"That's not it."

As if on cue, none other than Kuchiki Byakuya materializes at the entrance of the intensive care ward, looking impressively solemn in his chief of police uniform.

"Nii-san!"

The long-haired man acknowledges his sister's call with a curt nod, then turns his focus back on the carrot-top. "Abarai was always a quick shot. Whatever the reason, he _chose_ not to draw his gun." Thin, pale lips twitch ever so slightly in annoyance. "The idiot."

Ichigo can't help but mentally agreeing.

"Could it be…" Toshiro's brow furrows, and the uncertainty in his usually stoic voice catches Ichigo's attention. "… he knew his aggressor?"

"That would explain why Renji-kun refused to open the fire." Izuru observes, azure eyes seeking for a trace of approval on Byakuya's stern face.

"Mph."

"Are you guys quite done playing Cluedo?" Momo snarls abruptly, causing the boys to jump out of their skins. The arm still wrapped around Rukia is shaking with outrage. "Just how _is_ Pineapple Head?"

"Nii-san was the only one the doctors let inside because he took responsibility over him, since Renji was officially out on his morning patrol." The young Kuchiki explains, and even if she never stares directly at him, Ichigo knows she's doing as much to his benefit.

Chief of police Kuchiki Byakuya crosses his arms slowly over a ridiculously broad chest, which results in making him look even larger and, well, _scarier._ "The bullet hit some neural region near his cerebellum. Of course they removed it when he was first brought here, and surgery went smoothly, so there shouldn't be any splinter left – but that is an extremely delicate zone, with high chances of permanent damage. Adding severe blood loss to the mix, there is the concrete possibility Abarai will remain paralyzed or suffer from serious memory issues. Not to mention PTSD."

"PTSD?" Rukia echoes in a small voice.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder." The doctor in Ichigo butts in reflexively, his mind barely registering what comes out of his mouth. Renji's prognosis sounds all the more petrifying to his ears, given how he's gotten used over the years to hearing the very same expressions referred to countless firearm victims. It's not encouraging that those people would more often than not end up on the sectioning table at the morgue as the topic of many a legal medicine practical class, either.

"At any rate, it's no use staying here." Byakuya's deep voice shatters the unreal silence they'd all fallen in upon hearing the dispiriting diagnosis. "The doctors don't expect Abarai to wake up before nightfall, and even then he would have to remain under critical care, hence unable to receive visits." Obsidian irises scan the youths before them one by one, only narrowing aggressively as – or so Ichigo takes it – they lay on the ginger head.

"Right." Rukia murmurs darkly, barely daring lift her gaze to her brother's eye level. "Nii-san should probably go back to work. You must be very busy."

An oddly soft expression crosses the captain's noble features for a moment, quick enough not to leave a trace afterwards. "Che. I meant you kids have no business staying. I am not going anywhere."

The collective gasp of incredulity translates efficiently into the younger Kuchiki's objection. "But nii-san, you're needed at the headquarters! Who's going to direct the investigation on Renji's aggression if you're here all the time? Besides, you said yourself there's no point in staying until he's transferred to an ordinary ward and allowed visits."

"I can go in anytime." The long-haired man points out flatly, not really bothering to glance down at his sister. "Also, my subordinates happen to be most qualified. I trust them to handle things brilliantly in my absence." The captain leans back against the wall, a final move much like the closing of a book. "You kids go. I will give you a ring as soon as Abarai's back with the living."

"I'm staying."

Only once the words have already left his mouth does Ichigo realize he's openly contradicted _Kuchiki Byakuya_, of all people to defy. Renji's taichou stares at him like he would some sort of inferior, repulsive hairy insect. "You red didn't hear me?"

_Man, this guy's fucking scary.__ No wonder Rukia gets so violent. _"I think I can talk some nurse into letting me in by playing the med student card."Ichigo ventures, careful not to take an assuming stance in front of the easily enraged captain. "Don't feel like leaving Renji's side if I can help it."

He feels Izuru shift unconsciously closer, half showing support half seeking protection behind his back. Something akin to respect reads on Momo's now slightly brightened face, while Rukia glances back and forth between her friend and her brother with round, wary eyes. Even Toshiro takes a step in his direction, but seems to reconsider it soon after and stills awkwardly.

Ichigo's lips arch in a tiny smile. _Gonna make do._

Byakuya's piercing stare relents after what feels like an eternity. "Suit yourself." The man grunts hatefully, then turns on his heels and disappears beyond the door to the ICU without sparing so much as a glance his sister's way.

"Well…"

Momo's tone is hesitant and, Ichigo realizes belatedly, guilty. "Given the current state of things, I… well, there really is no reason for us to stay if… and I do need to get back to the campus, there's a Sisterhood meeting scheduled for this afternoon, and as president of the Committee I'm expected to show up at some point."

"We all had plans for the day." Kira offers prudently, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip nervously. "But I'm not sure we… I mean, it wouldn't be very nice of us to – "

"Guys?" Rukia sounds and looks every bit as a frightened child as she wraps both arms about herself and lowers her head, watery eyes shielded by thick black hair. "Do you think… Renji is going to be alright?"

Ichigo feels his throat constrict with such force he's left panting for breath within a minute.

"We can only keep our hopes up." Toshiro utters quietly, and it's not long before they're all sitting, the four of them, in a row of wobbly plastic chairs outside the ward, none mustering the strength to do much more than lay back against the seat and think it through.

* * *

And think it through, Ichigo does.

"_Tatsuki's period is late. She's taking a pregnancy test as we speak."_ He had said that morning, not more than 5 hours prior, to the same man lying in a bed under intensive care after getting his skull blown by a motherfucker who went around packing heat like in a sodding mafia movie.

"_So, what the hell are you doing here?"_Had been Renji's dry comeback.

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Your girlfriend is taking a fucking pregnancy test and you're not there, by her side? What kind of boyfriend are you? What kind of _person?_"_

"_Like you're a saint yourself! How many girls ran away from you weeping?"_

"_That's a whole shitload of a different matter, fucktard! You can't possibly be serious!"_

"_Well, why? What makes it so different? Is it because that's you?"_

"_It's because they were not fucking pregnant when I'd dump 'em, for one! Man, are you even listening to yourself anymore?"_

"_We don't know for sure whether Tatsuki i__s pregnant or not. May be just a close call."_

"_And you think if that is the case, she deserves to be left all by herself? That you'd only be expected to take responsibility if there actually was a baby growing inside her? Screw this shit, Ichigo! She's your goddamn woman! You can't act like her body matters to you while inside the bedroom and then dispose of it like a sodding garbage bag the moment you're done! Just what sick fuck have you become?" _

"_Did you come over just to insult me, or do you have any real advice to offer?"_

"_You don't need advice, you need to get yourself back from whatever gutter you got lost in. Tatsuki is your girlfriend, and she has rights. Hell, she has _needs_ you're supposed to meet. If you can't do this much, then you're not worth her time anymore than you're mine, or anyone else's." _

The double entendre had been clear like daylight, and stung just as much. Ichigo had curled up in a ball on the comfy chair, a mop of bright orange hair the only part of him still exposed. _"I was never able to love her, you know. Not the way she loves me."_

"_That's no excuse to chicken out on your duty. If anything, it only means you owe her all the more – you owe her all the time she gave a jerk like you and is never getting back, no matter how much this'll destroy her in the end."_

* * *

" – saki. Kurosaki! Oi, Ichigo!"

A blur of grey and white is all he recognizes at first. He has to blink dumbly a couple of times until Toshiro's kneeling shape takes form before his eyes. "T'shiro? Whazzup?" The sleepy thickness in his own timbre surprises him. Somewhere through the dreamy fog clouding his brain an alarm sets off, and next thing he knows Ichigo is on the edge of his seat, eyes forced open wide in panic. "Is it Renji? Something about him?"

The footballer places his hands on each of the other's knees, a natural soothing gesture that sends shocks of electricity up Ichigo's whole body nevertheless. The embarrassingly obvious tremor running up his legs brings Toshiro to pull away in a flash, so eagerly the boy can barely find his balance and scramble on his feet to stand. That's when Ichigo's addled brain realizes his former lover had been crouching between his legs, breathing on the fabric of his pants, sliding cool hands down his thighs in an effort to reassure him – and he managed to scare him off with his ill-timed bodily reactions. _Nice job, dickhead._

"Nothing new. Rukia's brother is inside harassing the doctors, I reckon." The corners of the prodigy's mouth quirk in a not quite smirk/half grimace. "Can't imagine anyone standing their ground in that man's face. Bet his interrogations are legend."

Ichigo smiles in agreement, albeit groggily. His dreamland haze is actually making it much easier to, well, handle something that could qualify as conversation with the one man haunting both his awake and asleep time. "What about Rukia and the others?"

"Gone for a while now."

He only then takes notice of the change in his surroundings – white neon lights in place of sunrays livening up the plain lounge room, all washed-out and fake and surreal against the darkness outside the windows. A quick peek to his wristwatch confirms Ichigo's intuition. "Damn. I dozed off."

Staring at him from above, Toshiro nods unnecessarily. "Soundly. Sorry to wake you, but…you seemed in distress." Aquamarine eyes drift fretfully, and understanding dawns on the redhead like bright gold fireworks.

_He's here__._

Which morphs soon enough into _Why is he here?_

Ichigo is just wetting his bottom lip, gingerly toying with the idea in his mind, when Toshiro takes the seat next to his and bends forward, elbows perched on his knees. "Bad dreams?"

The shorty's tone is nothing but conversational, yet the mere word – _dreams_ – coming from he who starred in so many makes Ichigo wriggle uneasily on the spot. "Huh, not… really. More like, memories."

"Anything Abarai-related?"

Toshiro's question brings a scowl on the redhead's face. _Hold the fuck on._ It was never like _him_ to stick his nose in other people's business unless openly consulted. Ichigo cocks a quizzical eyebrow. "Why would you ask?"

The cheap plastic chair screeches as Toshiro shifts to rest his chin in the hollow of his joined palms. "No reason. Just…" Teal eyes flutter – so do the annoying butterflies dwelling in Ichigo's belly – before swiftly latching onto the nearby wall, out of reciprocation range. "You don't have to feel guilty about what happened. Renji's accident, I mean. It was not your fault."

That thought having not even crossed his mind up until this very minute, Ichigo does a double take just to make sure it's really Toshiro he's talking to. Because, much as he's always made his blood boil like nobody else, this feeling of raw, bestial aggravation Ichigo couldn't quell if he tried is _not_ something he'd usually relate to the footballer's presence. Snorting to keep his nostrils from flaring too evidently, the med student lets out in what he hopes will pass as just a minor snarl: "The hell are you talking about? Of course it wasn't my fault, I'm not the little shit who sent Renji in a coma."

It's no use pretending not to notice the startled and, god help him, _pained_ flicker in Toshiro's eyes as the youth straightens up against the back of his seat, as though physically distancing himself from his own peak of gaucherie. "I didn't mean it like – "

_Too fucking late_, sentences the awakening rage demon inside of Ichigo. "Yeah, right, so you didn't. Whatever. Why are you even here to begin with? Why didn't you leave with the others?"

"I – I'm… not sure." True to his words, the prodigy looks genuinely lost for a moment. Ichigo revels in the sight – the idea of being able to make a wreck out of the aloof youth is thrilling, if not enough to soothe the ginger's indignation. "I must have thought I… I was afraid you wouldn't be alright on your own." Silver locks shroud the side of his face as the footballer looks away, delivering his next words to the blinding white walls. "It just didn't feel right to leave you."

"Thanks for your pity!"

Toshiro pushes his brows together in a harsh crease on his forehead. "Will you stop twisting my words? This is not about pity, and you know it."

Jerking abruptly to sit crosswise on the chair, Ichigo has to bite his inner cheek to avoid grabbing the shorty's arm and giving him one nice hard shake. "Then _what's_ it about? You claim I am hard to read, but fail to see how much of a sodding sphinx you are yourself." His upper lip quirks in annoyance as if it had a will of its own. "I thought you said it hurt to be anywhere near me. Then why the hell are you?"

Toshiro hisses like an injured cat and squirms to get as far as physically possible while still sitting next to the carrot-top. The deed is not easily achieved though, and the whiz kid ends up slouching miserably on the farthest edge of the seat as Ichigo insists, unaffected.

"I've respected your wish. You said you don't want to – hell, you said _can't_ – can't be around me, and I did everything in my power to grant you I'd stay outta your face. Then, what do you do? You go and just… pop up every damn where I turn! Like back when we were on hols."

"Are you blaming me for Renji's car dying on us?"

Somehow, the disbelieving, bordering on sardonic quality to the athlete's tone pisses Ichigo off all the more. "I'm blaming you for coming out to be with me, that night at the motel. As I'm blaming you now for staying, out of lord knows what sort of feeling." Shutting the other up before he gets a chance to speak, Kurosaki grunts. "Whatever the case, I don't care. I just wish you were fair and straightforward for once. Seriously, have you ever put your foot down and stood your ground about _anything_ in your entire life?"

As if taking Ichigo's metaphor to heart, Toshiro leaps on his feet, the strain deriving from their little discussion proving to be too much for him to stay put. "Where did all this even come from? Jesus, Ichigo, what the fuck is your problem?"

The redhead is over him in a feline whirl of wrinkled clothes and expensive cologne, a mix that strikes Toshiro's senses with such sheer force to send him stumbling blindly backwards, till the footballer's toned calves hit the edge of a chair and he finds himself sprawled in his previous seat.

"My problem, you say?" Ichigo follows his former lover in his fall and puts each arm on the chair's armrests, effectively trapping Toshiro there. Their eyes lock as the med student leans forward, close, close, _closer now_, to the point the tips of their noses are brushing and Ichigo can all but breathe out his words on the prodigy's lips. "If you won't be with me, then don't. If you can't bear my presence, don't. All I'm asking you to is not put me through the hell of having you close to me when you'd much rather be elsewhere. Of wondering what is it you're really thinking all the time. What is it you truly _desire._" Truth be told, rage-driven Ichigo is only half conscious of their current predicament, but he instantly becomes aware of the stress he put on the last word when Toshiro openly gasps at the sound of it, his amazing, amazing lips parting around a small sigh of excitement.

That changes everything. One shallow pant and Ichigo, pupils suddenly dilated with craving, is left cursing his total inability to suppress the shivers running down his body everytime Toshiro looks up at him like that, with naked need in his eyes, with raw vulnerability. "Don't torture me by being there if you won't actually be there. Don't stay with me if you won't _be_ with me. Don't be my anything if you can't be mine." He whispers, slow and taunting, like it was a well-rehearsed mantra instead of the bleeding truth spilling from his core in the shape of a lover's prayer.

Toshiro's eyes are just that more rounded than usual, widened and luminous like an immense firmament, and the moment a shaky "Ichigo…" seeps past rosy lips, the redhead knows there's no turning back from there.

He's about five seconds from crushing their mouths together and then proceeding to fuck Toshiro into his squeaky chair, when the somewhat familiar sound of a plastic door creaking open alerts them both, causing Ichigo to scramble up and away from the other – whose shuddering form curls in a ball between armrests that are still warm with the ginger's body heat.

Turning up at the entry of the ICU, Kuchiki Byakuya stands on insecure legs, looking paler than the dead and worn as death itself, magnetic eyes circled by dark rings that almost seem too deep to be just one day old. When he speaks, his voice matches his aspect as in it bears the stress and fatigue of long hours spent dreading, sulking, breaking inside.

"Kids. Abarai is…"

Byakuya's gaze drops and Ichigo's heart sinks with it.

* * *

**.**

* * *

**A/N: my, my, the level of angst in this fic is getting way out of hand, isn't it? I need cookies badly now.**


	21. Tenth

_**September**_

The upper left corner of the picture went missing; the remaining edge is burnt out, its copper shade looking no different from a sophisticated light effect lost among the bright spotlight rays. In the background, a pale banner stuck to the wall wishes everyone a happy new year. The _Gotei_ club whose rise Toshiro witnessed in first hand comes across as one big bubble of dizzy new year's eve excitement, as the blinding grins showing off their faces – even his own lips are slightly tilted, the footballer notices – care to testify. When his eyes fall on Ichigo's arm casually draped across his shoulders, Toshiro smiles tiredly and puts the faded photo away with the rest of the stuff piling up inside the big carton box.

That picture captured most easily his last happy memory. It was taken by Kurosaki Ishin at the _Gotei'_s new year's eve party, merely two hours before Ichigo took him to his car and –

_I think I may be falling just a wee bit in love with you._

– and the thin ice Toshiro had been treading upon shattered under his feet, freezing water swallowing him whole.

A stab of guilt pierces his chest as he realizes just how shallow he's being, dwelling over meaningless facts from their past when it's really the present that's threatening to crumble around them. Part of him can't help basking in the sweetness memories provide with hindsight, though. _Everything was so much simpler then._ Matsumoto had been there at the time, and Renji…

"Hitsugaya-kun, are you done yet?" Kira inquires politely, barely sticking his head inside the bedroom. All the same, Toshiro feels himself cringe at the sadness poorly hiding beneath the blonde's encouraging smile.

"Yeah, coming right up." He deftly settles the lid over the square box and stands, ignoring the way his head spins after the abrupt movement. As his body keeps reminding him, it's been ages since he last exercised properly. Toshiro doesn't think he's ever been this out of shape since he first got into athletics, at about the age of sodding eleven.

They walk down the hall and outside, Izuru and him, elbows brushing every so often in a silent, mutual search for comfort. The sun is warm but pale, hidden by a veil of clouds too slight to shadow it, yet stubborn enough to dim its light. Even the air feels almost too dry to breathe in, too thin, too still.

Toshiro's lungs constrict painfully as he opens his mouth to speak, only to be muted by the undeterred lump in his throat.

"You made it." Kusaka smiles calmly, his lean form hunched over the open car trunk. Small beads of sweat gathered at his temples, and Toshiro feels yet another dart of guilt shoot through him – he was so intent on sulking in his cocoon of self-pity he forgot all about helping his oldest friend packing.

"Yeah. Sorry I'm late. I just… I was going through Renji's stuff and sort of… got caught up."

"I understand." And Toshiro can tell by the way Sojiro squeezes his shoulder he really does. "I must confess, part of me was wishing you wouldn't make it, so I could slink off under your nose and get it over with." The athlete winks with an air that clearly says he doesn't have the heart to make fun of Toshiro any more cruelly, which the short prodigy is deeply grateful for.

"Like I'm buying it. You're a damn clingy, hopeless, sentimental pussy." He makes an effort to repay Sojiro for _his_ effort and coaxes a smirk into playing on his lips, as much as it costs him to even fake mirth.

"Aha, but there you have it! All the more reasons to want to avoid this moment like the plague – my poor maiden heart cannot stand farewells."

_Farewells._ That word sounds so final Toshiro chokes on it in his mind. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't put myself through the pain of sharing a flat with you this past year or so to see you walk out of my life for good in the end." He scowls some for effect, arms crossing over his chest. "You'd better spare me a bed in your European quarters. Make damn sure it's comfy, too."

Kusaka throws his head back with a chuckle. "Aye, aye!" The tilt of his lips never faltering, only morphing into a more wicked grin, he leans forth and over the other boy, whispering into Toshiro's ear to keep the rest of his reply a secret between them. "Though we both know you won't be visiting soon. Not until – " The murderous look the shorty casts him succeeds in cutting Sojiro off, but catches Izuru's attention.

"Ahem, Kusaka-kun… Momo asked me to tell you she's really sorry she couldn't stop by to greet you, but with the committee and all – "

"It's perfectly okay, Kira-kun." Sojiro reassures the blonde, all the while pulling away from Toshiro and slamming the car trunk shut (with an oh-so-smooth motion the softened footballer is prone to be jealous of). "I wasn't expecting the girls to come anyway. I'm well aware of just how busy they've been as of late, plus the general spirit isn't really at its highest these days."

"Well, yes." Izuru scratches the back of his head apologetically. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll make lots of amazing friends in Europe! You're – "

"No, he won't." Toshiro chides, a lopsided smirk on his lips telling Kusaka he means no ill will. "Solitude comes with being a genius."

"Ah, I'll miss your backhanded compliments so much, Shiro-chan!"

"Don't call me that!"

"So it _was_ a compliment, huh?"

"Knock it off and get going already." Toshiro grunts, then slaps the taller boy's hand off his shoulder. No use: next thing he knows Sojiro has thrown himself in his arms, head buried in the hollow of the footballer's neck.

"I'll miss you too, Shiro-chan." The brunette nuzzles the side of his friend's cheek with mock affection, rubbing his nose against the baby-soft skin of Toshiro's jaw line. Teal blue eyes flutter shut for a moment, the snowy head revelling in the familiar vanilla scent that's uniquely Sojiro, as the raven-haired youth turns to press his lips just below his mate's earlobe. "Good luck with everything. Keep me up to date." He whispers, and Toshiro can only nod awkwardly due to their position.

Later on, after Izuru bids Kusaka goodbye and the brunette leaves on his car, Toshiro finds himself walking down the same road he has for weeks, each step following the other without him really ordering his legs to move. Good thing too; his brain feels too crammed to operate properly. He's pretty sure Sojiro's departure is to blame for the dull ache in his chest, but that's not the only sensation swirling in his breast. The chill nestled at the pit of his stomach is an old acquaintance – has been there since day one of Renji's hospitalization – though it's now accompanied by the rhythmic clenching of his abs and a weird tingle at the base of his spine. Even his skin feels off, prickling and breaking into shivers for no apparent reason. _It's like a hunch or something_, the prodigy tells himself, then tries to shrug it off as the huge white building comes into view.

The reason for his body's discomfort becomes clear as lightening the moment he steps into the lounge room, only to back off precipitously at the sight of two figures, a boy and a girl, standing in a corner, wrapped in a tight embrace.

That'd be no means to scare Toshiro off, if only it weren't the man he loves and his girlfriend hugging tenderly before his eyes.

_Screw this._ One thing is to know you're hopelessly in love with a man who's never seen nor will ever see you as more than a friend, in the best case scenario, or a sexual experiment, in the worst; to be confronted with the evidence of said man's romantic disinterest is something else entirely, though, and way beyond Toshiro's tolerance limit. No matter how his body is physically shaking with the need to know what's going on, he is _not_ going to be found starring in this as the stupid cat that was killed by curiosity. Not on his life. So not. Period.

… it's not even his fault, really. No one could blame him for listening – because that's sure as hell _not_ eavesdropping – since the lounge room walls are actually no thicker than paper panels, and he happens to be standing right by the one Ichigo and Tatsuki are leaning against. Not his fault, honestly. And it's not like it could be helped anyway, since there's nowhere else for him to turn in order to give the pair some privacy.

Besides, all he hears is Ichigo muttering sweet nothings supposedly in the girl's ear, as Tatsuki switches between murmuring back (_so low, dammit, fucking private people_) and bursting into overall discreet sobs. Toshiro can nearly see her, wiping her cheeks on Ichigo's white shirt while the ginger treads skilful fingers through her hair soothingly. The scene is so disturbing, if for no good reason, he has to tear his mind off it lest the gritting of his teeth cause any serious damage.

Eventually the door bursts open and Tatsuki storms out of the lounge room, head bowed and bony shoulders still shaking, too engrossed in her personal mourning to notice Toshiro's presence as she rockets past him.

The whiz kid stands for a long time right outside the room, shuffling his feet as he waits for Ichigo to come out. Too bad fear has the best of him at last: he bolts the moment a shadow appears behind the door glass.

_So sorry, Pineapple Head. I promise I'll visit tomorrow. _

* * *

_**October**_

"I know you'll hate me for asking, but are you positive this is the right choice?" Sojiro had ventured with tiredness in his eyes, back when leaving for Europe and giving his sports career a new twist was still an option.

Toshiro remembers it vividly, his friend's mute disbelief – the disapproval and contempt burning below his cool façade, buried under layers of unspoken sympathy – as he shrugged the question off. "Don't know about right, but this is what I have to do now. There's things tying me here I can't set aside until…" Here the prodigy had blushed and looked away to hide it. Predictably enough, Kusaka had not been fooled.

"Aha, it's rude to leave someone hanging like that, Shiro-chan. Until…?"

Grunting, Toshiro had uttered the words so fast Sojiro would hopefully not get a thing. "Until I've figured out how they truly matter to me. Happy now? Go pack your stuff, comb your hair or piss off, for all I care. Just don't bring this up again."

He couldn't forget Kusaka's saddened smile if he tried. "Fine, _coach _Hitsugaya. Hope you won't have to regret getting sentimental for possibly the first time in your life."

* * *

It's late and cold. The hospital looks positively spectral at night, and Toshiro can't help but shudder as he rests his forehead on his bent knees and hugs himself tightly. _Just what the fuck is taking him so long?_ It's been over an hour since he passed by to see Renji only to be told that he wouldn't be let in till the person currently visiting was through, since they had explicitly asked not to be disturbed. Toshiro had automatically assumed it was Kuchiki-taichou the nurse was talking about (that man could easily frighten the whole world into going along with his eccentricities), and resigned himself to wait at the captain's heart's content. _This is going way too far though._

Ever since Ichigo was able to bribe – 'persuaded with his natural eloquence and medical competence', as the ginger put it – the nurse assigned to the night shift in ICU, they all obtained an under cover extra permission to actually visit Renji, instead of just watching him sleep through the visitors window. It wasn't much – didn't make all that difference to hold the man's hand, hear his peaceful breathing, smell the illness gradually replacing his usual fresh cologne – in fact it got even worse at times, more painful, harder to bear. Still they had all been eager to exercise their privilege, Kuchiki-taichou always on the frontline. But there's only so much time a sane boss would want to spend at their subordinate's bedside, no matter how guilty they may feel (Toshiro couldn't imagine any reason other than that for Byakuya's attachment). The current situation is particularly hard on Rukia, too; the poor girl is looking every day more drained by having to watch her best friend wear thin in a hospital bed and her beloved brother losing sleep beside him. _It's so fucking unfair. If only that day… _

Footsteps approaching shake Toshiro out of his reverie.

_Well, about goddamn tim – _He feels his breath being knocked out of his lungs as he lifts his head to stare at the man coming out of Renji's room.

Ichigo staggers towards him, and that's all indication he gives of having noticed the silver haired youth. His gaze is blurry, eyes bloodshot and glossy beneath heavy, swollen lids. What really throws Toshiro off is the way air comes out of the redhead's parted lips in a low wheeze, sounding much like an agonizing beast's final breaths.

The mere thought prompts Toshiro to bounce on his feet and meet the med student halfway. "Ichigo!" He grabs the taller youth by his forearms and squeezes gently yet firmly. Kurosaki keeps his eyes down. "What's wrong, what happened?" Getting no reaction, Toshiro shakes him lightly, but he's taken aback by Ichigo practically collapsing against him. "Oi, Ichigo!"

It's suddenly warm with the ginger in his arms, and Toshiro has to pull himself together lest his mind drift back to memories it's not wise to bring up right now. Ichigo holds onto him for dear life, which half scares him half fills him with confusing, primitive contentment. It feels like ages since they last were close like this, even though Toshiro knows he's not being honest with himself – there were those times on holidays, at the beach first, and inside the tent later, not to mention the almost-kiss only Byakuya's arrival interrupted a few weeks ago – yet it's not fair of him to indulge and, what?, take advantage of Ichigo's evident distress.

To call that distress would be a sore understatement, Toshiro realizes quick enough the moment his ex's legs give away and, the much smaller footballer being unable to hold them both upright, they tumble in a clumsy tangle and hit the ground.

"Hey, watch it! Damn, Ichigo, what's _wrong?_"

The redhead's iron grip never wavers; in fact, it all but tightens when Toshiro makes a feeble attempt to dislodge himself from the uncomfortable position. At such close proximity the snowy head has no other choice but to breathe him in, Ichigo's well known musky scent an intoxicating reminder of everything that's gone on between them – all the ups and downs, from befriending to getting horizontal and all the angst that followed. The silky texture of the redhead's button-up shirt feels cool and smooth under his palms, all the more so whenever it stretches with Ichigo's muscles tensing. Toshiro runs his hands down the other's biceps in a way that should be comforting, but only serves to spark his own unease – he's practically feeling his former lover up while he's having a breakdown, and no matter how you look at it, there's no way to make it pass as even remotely appropriate.

Ichigo hides his face in the crook of the smaller youth's neck like a helpless kid, and Toshiro's heart cracks. He's never seen him like this before, not even back when the ginger was being an asshole and taking on weed – even then, he'd thought that was just as low as Unbreakable Ichigo was ever going to stoop. The ginger's breath is laboured, coming out in short warm, humid pants against the hyper-sensitive skin of the athlete's neck, and Toshiro decides it's time to _do_ something and stop being a useless heap of hormone-induced disarray this instant.

"Ichi – " His voice dies in his throat at the disconcerting sound of sniffing into his neck. _Oh Lord, what now? _He's not prepared for this, damn it. He never studied for this. All the schooling and the record grades and the stupid medals, and he's totally, painfully clueless when it comes to handle the one he loves fucking _sniffing_ in his ear. Toshiro prays to every known deity Ichigo won't go and make it any more obvious, doing something awfully embarrassing like sobbing or letting his wet cheeks come in contact with the footballer's jaw set, because then it'll be no longer possible to just pretend like nothing out of the ordinary is going on, and god only knows how much Toshiro wishes for normalcy at this point in time. Wondering if he looks even half as awkward as he's feeling, the shorty runs tentative fingers through the other's orange mane, and is genuinely surprised when Ichigo relaxes against him, the medic's hands – which had been trapped between their smashed-together chests and fisted into tight balls of suppressed anguish up until now – uncurling and going as far as to pat the front of Toshiro's shirt to get it rid of wrinkles. _Well, now that's a progress._ Gathering the courage he's still lacking to go all the way, Toshiro finally bends over to speak softly into the calming man's hair. "Let's just get you home."

Ichigo shifts in his arms so abruptly Toshiro takes it he's done something unforgivable and steadily proceeds to beat himself up in his mind. He's just reached the part involving whips and hairshirt when he realizes the carrot-top is actually shaking his head no without pulling away from the embrace, thus digging a hole in Toshiro's breast – but that's fine, really, you don't go and gun for the crying anymore than you do steal candy from babies, so, yeah, whatever.

Ichigo's husky amendment cuts Toshiro's train of thought irreparably.

"Let's _go home._"

* * *

That's how Toshiro finds himself driving them both to the Kurosaki's manor, which is indefinably odd for copious reasons, the two royal ones being, a) he hates cars with a _passion_, at least when they're not being used for, well, y'know, and b) after a particularly misfortunate driving lesson last year, Ichigo swore out loud he'd never, ever, under no matter what circumstances let the silverette anywhere near a gearshift again. So it's just more testament to how off he is that the redhead would slump inside and robotically sprawl on the passenger's seat, leaving the other man no choice but to take the mission of bringing Ichigo's moping ass back home safe and sound on himself.

All through the ride Toshiro keeps checking the side mirrors as if expecting a giant crocodile to pop out of nowhere on the backseat and chew Ichigo's outstanding head off – the worst thing about this scenario being Ichigo would probably be too absorbed in his blank gazing out of the window to notice. This makes him nervous, this whole situation makes him nervous, and Toshiro drives faster than it's sane to for an inexperienced, scared, emotionally constipated ex sports star such as himself. _Great, now I'm sulking too. Must be a bloody virus. _

They make it to Kurosaki's place without any accident for no other reason than Ichigo's offending lucky sevens. The ginger is still spaced out when they reach the garage door, and Toshiro has to shake him back to awareness, an aggravated sigh escaping the prodigy's lips in the process. "Oi, dumbface. I need your key to get the car in, and I'd rather you wouldn't make me search you for it."

Finally Ichigo turns and actually looks at him, though his eyes are devoid of any emotion. Giving no other indication of understanding the request, the med student mutely produces a small remote out of his pocket and drops it onto Toshiro's palm, as if implicitly trusting him to hereby take care of even the minutest detail. The whiz kid grunts his discontent, but complies nonetheless.

"Right. Here we go."

Parking, of all things, was never his forte, and Toshiro prays he's not blushing too hard at his clumsy manoeuvres by the time they climb off the car, Ichigo strolling ahead of him then stopping on the porch while waiting for the other to handle even that. Toshiro whimpers – he doesn't want to remind Ichigo they need another key to enter the house – but luckily enough the redhead remembers himself and, upon casting the shorter man a sideways rueful smile, he searches his pockets for his key ring and, there, in they come.

Toshiro breathes hard through his nostrils. There's no comparing that huge mansion to the chock-full hole that was Ichigo and Renji's bedroom back at the campus, but home is where your heart is, as goes the saying, and Toshiro thinks no place on earth proves that righter than the Kurosaki's villa. This place has got such a gloomy atmosphere to it he feels a shiver run down his spine even as Ichigo switches on the light in the hall.

"Do you…" The taller man's voice sounds husky due to lack of using, and suddenly the silverette is no longer sure the prickling of his skin is only imputable to the creepiness of the environment. "Would – I…" The ginger halts, then sighs in defeat. "I'll just go to bed if you don't mind."

"Sure. You want me – ?"

Toshiro stops midsentence, not sure himself what he's suggesting, but Ichigo nods towards him with such naked gratitude in his eyes it feels suddenly right to follow the crestfallen youth upstairs, down the corridor and then in his room, just to be sure he makes it to the bed (no other reason, really, no other, and if the butterflies in his belly are throwing a springtime ball it's just a weird zoological phenomenon that has nothing to do with the subtle way Ichigo's hips sway as he walks, _thank you very much_).

Toshiro's eyes narrow as he follows the redhead's lead into his bedroom. Apparently the blinds were shut all day, and Ichigo's tentative hands find the edge of the mattress long before two sets of eyes can spot it in pitch dark. The how-very-familiar sound of rustling fabric startles the athlete as the carrot-top's knees buckle and he crawls on top of the covers, then lies down with his front to the wall.

A wary aquamarine gaze falls on the white section of spare bed next to Ichigo, and Toshiro shuffles his feet. His work here is most definitely over with, and he knows he really should get going now, but for some reason he can't, can't bring himself to leave when Ichigo's got his back turned on him – it feels like rejection, it stings like rejection, and Toshiro's breathing is ragged and he can't let go. Long story short, mastermind Hitsugaya is at a total loss for what the fuck to do. _Imagine that. _He keeps telling himself he's only there to check on his mate, but something is repeatedly getting in the way of his mental workings dragging him back to the start line – what is it again? This, this – _then_ he realizes, this smell, the scent filling up the room blanketing it in its manly essence – sure enough, it's Ichigo's perfume rising and leaving its unmistakable print all over the walls and ceiling and floor, and Toshiro thinks his most likely bodily reaction should roll along the lines of _historical arousal_, if for no other reason than the old times' sake, but funnily enough he feels closer to tears than he recalls ever being for something so trivial, and it's –

Breaking the unreal quiet, Ichigo turns over to fix his stare on the useless handful of brainfroze genius standing by the bed. His eyes are barely visible in the darkness, though an eloquent warmth radiates off his entire persona as he lazily draws his knees to his chest, crouching in foetal position. Toshiro opens his mouth to say whatever bullshit will choose to make its way out of the breach then, but thank god Ichigo beats him to it.

"C'mere."

_Hitsugaya_brain . exe needed to shut down._

The genius sucks air in harshly. His eyes are glued to the dark appendix that is Ichigo's outstretched arm in the dark, mesmerized by the irresistible pull that single gesture entices. His very inner organs are itching to get into bed with the other man, and it's unlike anything Toshiro has ever felt with – well, with anyone but him, of course. Only him.

_Ever since I started feeling, I've only ever felt for__ him. Fuck, how's this for sap. _

He's still stalling and being an overemotional teenage girl when Ichigo does the one thing that pushes Toshiro's buttons like an giant robot hand would a hyper-tech control panel.

"Chill. Don't be difficult."

Oh, screw him! _I'll show you who's being difficult._ Brows furrowed tight together in concentration, the whiz kid climbs on top of the bed with cautious yet purposeful movements, and only stops to kick his shoes off when the master of the house casts him a pointed reminding look. Every minuscule jerk of hips brings him closer to lying flat on his back (facing Ichigo is _not_ an option, thanks a lot). There, just, there, just an endless sequence of useless moves away. Toshiro realizes his breathing is suspiciously loud in the otherwise silent room, and he claps his lips shut opting for apnoea. After all, dying for air deficiency sounds like a much more appealing perspective than making it awkward by leading Ichigo to think this whole predicament is affecting him. Which it is, by the way, though that barely counts as a minor detail the ginger needs _not_ be let in on. _Easy, just go easy._ Eventually he's settled, the rigid set of his shoulder blades leaving no doubt as to just how _un_easy he truly is. _Well, stuff this._ Lying down with Ichigo after all this time feels so downright weird he's just about arching off the mattress, wary of letting his back and middle and coccyx and, oh god, his butt touch the plain surface of the redhead's bed. Never before had he realized just how intimate an item one's sleeping bed really is. In fact, the weight of said intimacy is crushing him at this very moment.

Then Ichigo sighs, a low, taut growl-ish outtake, and suddenly there's a warm body cuddled by his side, pushing him to roll over, followed within seconds by a light arm casually wound around his waist.

_Spooning, spooning, this is, we are, oh god, we're not, he's…_

Ichigo presses himself flat against the stiff board that's Toshiro, his chin settling happily in the crook of the shorty's neck. Two long legs bend to fit better against Toshiro's own angled ones as the med student scoots closer still. The silverette's temple throbs, and horrifyingly enough Ichigo is bound to feel that too, since their temples are practically squashed together.

_Cool down. Just what did you learn at summer camp on controlling panic attacks? _

Ichigo breathes out through his nose, hot, moist breath bumping right into the prodigy's clavicle, and all hell breaks loose.

_Okay, fine, so be it. Here endeath the pathetic, miserable life of Hitsugaya Toshiro, former whiz kid and soccer star, whose gravestone you shall write upon: __died unaccomplished of soul-consuming guilt and pent-up sexual frustration._

Ichigo mouths something feebly into his neck, and Toshiro's lame cerebral pitter-patter ceases as frozen. Not at what the redhead said, though – that he couldn't even catch – but rather the soft pressure of an undeniably tear streamed cheek against the cold firmness of his own numb skin is what gives him pause.

_Oh._

Later on, after Ichigo has cried himself to sleep ever so gently, no shaking nor sobbing quaking his solid frame, Toshiro can allow his own weakness to come out and play.

* * *

He wakes up in the morning to a damp pillow and an empty bed. What's overly annoying, his cheeks retain the strained quality that's so typical of newly dried skin even after he splashes water on his face, not to mention the unnerving hint of a blush promising to keep him company through the rest of the day.

It's sometime around noon when Toshiro finally crawls out of the bathroom and downstairs; the sight of Ichigo lazily sitting at the kitchen table munching hot pancakes comes _somewhat_ unexpected.

"Hey. No work today?"

Ichigo's eyes are large and warm when they meet Toshiro's, his calm, aloof attitude a blessing to the athlete's visceral distaste for drama. "Yeah. Thought I'd cut myself some slack for once." The carrot-top beckons at the chair across from his own. "Pancakes?"

Toshiro takes him up on the offer, and that's about it for today's chit-chat. They enjoy their breakfast in companionable silence, then Ichigo offers him a ride home on his way to the hospital. The footballer can't help but sigh unhappily as he gathers the med student is going to spend yet another day at Renji's bedside, but if the redhead feels well enough to drive and look pretty damn handsome in the process, then he figures he's worrying over nothing.

Neither dares bring up the matter of last night, which is just fine by Toshiro. _Not Talk About It_ was always their go-to policy, anyway.

* * *

_**November**_

To love, Toshiro muses one late rainy afternoon too many spent pacing down the hallways of the local hospital, is to slowly wither away while waiting for something. Depending on the kind of love, it can easily be a medic's comforting word – teal eyes take in the scene of a distraught looking Rukia sitting with her teary stare fixed on Renji's chest to monitor its uneven rise and fall – as well as the tiniest sign of acknowledgement to prove your presence matters. _Speaking of which._ Right now, Ichigo accurately avoiding eye contact is too painful a sight to behold, and Toshiro forces himself to keep his focus on Pineapple Head instead.

Hell, he knows he's being a girl about this whole thing, and it really, really needs to stop. He's just had it with Ichigo's hot-and-cold attitude; about damn time he, they wipe the slate clean and move the fuck on with their lives.

_Right. So that's why you stayed, huh? To move on with your life. _His conscience mocks him cruelly, revolting against the lies diet Toshiro has put it on for far too long now.

_Shut up. Here's some more denial to feed off. _

"You guys, please, everyone… will you just leave us alone for a sec? Got secretive dirty stuff to share with Midget, and it's not for the faint of heart ta hear."

Wrenching him out of his daydream abruptly, Renji's raspy voice gets right through his brain and imposes itself as a major priority. After all, ever since he woke up the policeman has been trying to regain full control over his body functions, seeing as the lasting coma and aftermath shock therapy caused even the simplest deed to grow into some damn challenging task, and paying him their utmost attention is the very least his friends can do to support the tattooed man through his convalescence. Scolding himself for his previous distraction, Toshiro steps closer to the bed as Renji calls out for him, none as feebly as one might be led to believe given his condition.

The pineapple head waits until the others – Ichigo, Momo and an ever reluctant Rukia – drag themselves out to lift up on one elbow and address the ex footballer, a tentative crooked smirk arching lips that still look too pale to express glee convincingly. "So. It seems we're – " Sure enough, Renji is soon cut off by a fit of coughing. Toshiro is at his side in a flash.

"Don't overdo it, you idiot. Just stay put."

The cop shakes his head, determination giving his once sharper features that aura of pig-headedness that suits him so well (much better than the hospital weakling look anyway). "I just wanted to say thanks. For, y'know, looking after that fucking Berry while I was out." Renji grimaces, and Toshiro can seem to read his very thoughts, the images playing at the back of his mind through the narrowed slits of those coal-coloured eyes. Suddenly he knows just where the little lecture is heading, and wouldn't need to hear it anymore, but Abarai sees fit to elaborate. "I've gone pretty hard on him as of late, and even though it was all meant in good will to, y'know, knock some sense in that bloody dense skull of his, I'm still happy you were there ta pick him off the floor." A shade of pain crosses the redhead's features in an instant and he shifts to lie back down, Toshiro's stern glance enough of an admonishment of its own. When Renji speaks again, he sounds strained with the effort to adjust. "Damn asshole is my bestest pal, but he hasn't acted like himself in for-fucking-ever. The way he screwed around with that poor Arisawa chick, worrying her sick she may have gotten knocked up, was like the top – "

_!_

Toshiro doesn't even muster the strength to feel surprised, though he's actually numb by shock. His voice sounds nothing like his own as he summons the energy to choke out: "What do you mean, knocked up? They thought Arisawa was – " the word hangs in the air, thick with meaning, if unspoken. Renji catches the drift in no time.

"Spawning a mini-Berry soon, yeah. Thank god 'twas just a hoax, imagine having two Ichigos around." The tattooed man makes a feeble attempt at a derisive snort, though his distressed state, on one side, and Toshiro's unresponsiveness, on the other, cause the laugh to die out before long. "I get it he didn't have the balls to tell you, huh? Fucking chicken will hafta lend me an ear, 'cause if I'm in for the long woe trip here, then sure as all hell so's he."

Toshiro's chair screeches as it slides on the floor, the silverette bolting upright. "Don't." He's not sure how it is he manages to sound firm and pretty much expressionless about something that's buzzing in his skull so loud he's having troubles getting what Renji's saying, but it's not like a genius – or anyone for that matter – to question their luck. "Don't tell him anything. It doesn't matter."

Renji eyes him sceptically to say the least, but scoffs a reluctant consent nevertheless. "If you say so." As Hitsugaya moves to walk out, though, the convalescent man can't hold it in anymore. "Oi, Midget."

_Let go_, Toshiro'd shout if he had his way. _Let go, let it go, let me go. So I can pretend it doesn't matter and make myself believe it. _

No use. Blunt and inexorable comes Abarai's calling. "I don't even know why you should care at this point, but, for the record, they broke it off. Berry and sporty girl, I mean. Turns out she is not preggy after all, our ruggy red dumps her faster than you can say 'hotpants'." Bitter amusement stains Renji's tone. "That's Kurosaki 0.2 for you, I guess."

Toshiro stalls in the doorway just as long as it takes him to compose himself enough to make up an excuse for his hasty retreat, then shoots, head bowed, past his friends left awaiting outside, heading straight for the ward exit. He doesn't think he could share Ichigo's space, breathe in the air he breathes right now; any more sitting at Renji's bedside faking flawless camaraderie is more than he can bear.

Torn between hurting over the unsettling discovery and pondering Ichigo's mixed signals – _so I was good enough to hold him through the night, but he wouldn't trust me with what had him down in the first place,_ broods the sportsman – he wanders aimlessly around the hospital compound till he finds himself lost amidst the parking lot, his feet knowing the way to oblivion better than his hyper-sensitive conscious. _I really don't wanna have to do this_, the silverette muses, and he's not certain himself what it is he's running from, just…

Just, he's yet again tired. Tired of the lifelong wait. Tired of withering away while waiting for his roll of dice.

If he had a say on the matter, he'd give up feeling for Kurosaki Ichigo without so much as the bat of an eyelash; being he's not delusional, Toshiro reckons his second best shot is to try and keep his goddamn distance, take his chance at that kind of from-afar love you only ever hear of in girly novels. The kind of love driving you to say things like, "I'm leaving for your own good". _Geez._ Toshiro's nose wrinkles in protest. Okay, so maybe in time he can learn to cope with his sheer revulsion for heroic love rhetoric, while he's at it.

_No. Focus. _Distance_ is the word._

Distance is the word.

* * *

_**December**_

"So, we're throwing my WelcAmongsTheLivin' party in a super special location, thought to fit our whole big family, finally reunited in its time of need – "

"Welca what? Don't use the electrocuted brain cells to cover up for your inbred idiocy."

"You mean my electroffed brain cells, o my gingerbread buddy!"

"Just what's the plan, Pineapple?"

"Us. Mid-winter snowfalls. An army of hot chocolate cups and pastries to eat by the fireplace – "

"Pastries? Don't you mean marshmallows?"

"They go much better with hot choc!"

"Okay, fine, you insufferable girls, marshmallows it is. Now cut the crap and say you'll come."

"Come _where_, dammit?"

"We're having white winter hols! Christmas was fucking depressing this year, what with me being stuck in bed, Pretty Face AWOL and Bosom Baa-san running errands 'round the world, so we're just gonna celebrate our personal Latemas… "

"Latemas?"

"Please, no instigating, girls. We may never get to the point as it is."

"… _Gotei_ style on the move! I say we go on a ski holiday with all the trimmings. Ya strays in?"

As if on cue, several pairs of eyes lay on Toshiro simultaneously, making the young man want to scream and run for his life. Sadly, there's little even the coldest heartless bastard would deny a friend who spent fucking Christmas in a hospital bed with rubber pipes coming out of his body, so the former athlete shrugs – slowly, deliberately, as to leave no doubt what his intentions might be – and is awarded with Renji's heart-lifting elation.

"That's settled, then! All aboard!"

* * *

On December 20th, Ichigo forgets all of Toshiro's birthday for the first time in five years.

Not that it matters, anyway. The footballer thinks nothing of it. _Well, guess I didn't jump the _distance_ train on my own, _part of him deadpans, and that's about it.

Too bad some other part can't help but wonder just how long's the ride going to be.

* * *

**.**

* * *

**A/N: Gaaaw, this took bloody ages. And it's very, very, _very_ bad written at some points, but I get lazy. Still, figured this was not coming out unless I gave up trying to fix the parts where I forget how to write, so, yeah, there you have it. Hopefully you won't find it as hateful as I do, 'cause I have author issues the size of Indian elephants, while you people are so nice and kind and downright amazing. *_***

**ONLY A COUPLE ****CHAPTERS TO GO NOW! You wouldn't want to miss out on your last chances to review me right into bliss, now would you?**


	22. Eleventh

**Welcome back, everyone! ^-^ With this, _"Happy Ending"_ has officially made it past the year, whoa! Well, its birthday was actually in November, but my last update came in October, so I'm celebrating it now. I owe this fanfic quite a lot, considering it was what brought a great friend I'd have never met otherwise into my life. This chapter is my heartfelt present for that very friend, Kiki, whose birthday is coming up tomorrow. Hope you'll enjoy. =) **

**TIMELINE WARNING: this chapter opens with Ichigo's version of December, then picks up where Toshiro left off last chapter. **

* * *

_**.**_

* * *

_**December**_

It hasn't even snowed yet, Ichigo muses on a crazy busy working morning, and it's bloody freezing out there. Eyeing none too eagerly the thick foliage shaken by the chilling wind outside the glass doors, the redhead cups his mouth and breathes out heavily to warm his hands up, making a mental note to ask for a new pair of gloves as a Christmas present. Nothing worse than numb fingers when you do surgery for a living, after all. _Or have an underpaid, no days off, no annual leave job as a researcher_, Ichigo humourlessly rectifies, a scowl roughening his features as his thoughts drift yet again to unpleasant reminders of his career teetering. The days he feared he was never going to graduate are over, but all the stalling did no good to his programme, and he's acutely aware of just how fragile his position is. His lab supervisor was amazing enough to put his own arse on the line and negotiate an extension for his trainee's project; drowning himself in his job, beside providing a great distraction tout court, is the very least Ichigo can do to pay the man back.

A door opening catches the med student's attention right as he was deliberating to take heart and set foot outside to face the windstorm. There he is, as if right on cue. _Ukitake-sensei working overtime, too?_, the carrot-top vaguely wonders as the long-haired man appears at the other end of the hallway, clad in his lab coat and engaged in conversation with someone Ichigo can't identify from a distance. The two are standing in the doorway to Ukitake's personal studio, which is strange enough, since patients are seldom received at the university department. Maybe a colleague? Ichigo's frown deepens as the med student briefly debates whether to make his presence known. Whoever it is he's talking to, the long-haired surgeon looks positively engrossed in the discussion, and – though Ichigo can't tell for sure from afar – wearing his Bad News face to boot.

Wait, why is he even looking? He knows what his boss gets up to outside of working hours is none of his business, and it's not like he's ever had a personal interest for Ukitake-sensei before, but his… gut, you could say so, keeps telling him something's off. Clenching and unclenching his fists to test his fingers' growing sensibility, Kurosaki slides down the wall to get a better view of his boss's interlocutor. Ukitake picks that very moment to swing on his feet, thus hindering his sight again; Ichigo bends his knees slightly, and that does the trick.

The moment he lays eyes on the mysterious visitor, everything becomes clear – why his very body kept nagging at him to stick his nose in his professor's business, for one; that is, everything but the reason why Toshiro of all people should need to meet a well renowned surgeon in his consulting studio and look so sneaky about it.

His heart pounding wild in his chest, Ichigo straightens up and goes to walk up on the couple. He's just going to say hi to his boss, then steal that little whitey handful away and pester him till he spills the beans. Quick, easy, effective. Simple as that.

He's barely halfway there when Ukitake's hands landing on Toshiro's shoulders make his blood run cold.

Ichigo knows the gesture. It's just the same whenever the kind-hearted surgeon needs to tell someone something they don't want to hear, may that be his subordinates getting scolded for inefficiency or his patients' families forced to deal with the heart-piercing truth about their loved ones' conditions. No matter how you look at it, that pose means bad news.

Far from fuelled by the latest development, the carrot-top stops dead in his tracks and hesitates.

He's not all that sure Toshiro wants to see him, anyway. They never addressed the November accident again, which Ichigo is indefinitely grateful for (guilt-baiting Toshiro into sleeping next to him while he was broke down because of his own astounding idiocy and _girls_ troubles is not something he can proudly relive in his head and discuss, you know); in fact, they haven't talked about anything personal ever since, their now civil interactions strictly limited to charted waters like how the heck it's so cold in this season and when is Renji going to be finally discharged. To walk up on him now, demanding to be filled in on his private affairs – his _medical_ affairs – would be… well, kind of extremely inappropriate. Besides, Ichigo is probably fretting over nothing. But what if Toshiro had a serious problem of sorts – would he want his friends to know? Scratch that, would Ichigo want to know?

The choice is suddenly taken away from him as Ukitake pilots the short silverette out through the backdoor, his hands firmly planted on the boy's shoulders as the two exit his line of sight.

Well, eat him. _'s probably for the best anyway. _

* * *

Praying to all known deity he's not being as obvious as he feels, the redhead checks Toshiro out for the hundredth time this afternoon.

Looked at up close, the sportsman does have a bit of a sickly aura around him. Must be the unearthly white of his complexion, not to mention he's clearly underweight and likely malnourished. Ichigo would bet he hasn't had a decent meal in months, ever since whatshisface left for the athletics season. That's just the deal with supposed geniuses, isn't it – integral calculus they have for breakfast, but try introducing them to the wonders of oven and stove and see how wonderfully that works out. Also, is it just him or has Toshiro been fidgeting an awful lot in his seat? The quick peeks he's allowing himself are not nearly enough to establish whether the subject may be in pain, and that being the case, to locate the source of his distress. What's more, Ichigo recalls seeing the shorty practically rip his scarf untied and squirm out of his coat the moment they walked into the hospital, despite the undeniably chilling weather outside. It doesn't take a doctor to see that's odd behaviour, unless your bodily temperature is way higher than average. Could he be running a fever? That would most certainly provide reasonable background for Toshiro's occasional shuddering and reckless toying with the brim of his sleeves.

"We're having white winter hols! Christmas was fucking depressing this year, what with me being stuck in bed, Pretty Face AWOL and Bosom Baa-san running errands 'round the world, so we're just gonna celebrate our personal Latemas… "

"Latemas?"

Ichigo feels compelled to take part in the discussion so as to disguise his real occupation – boywatching. "Please, no instigating, girls. We may never get to the point as it is."

"… _Gotei_ style on the move! I say we go on a ski holiday with all the trimmings. Ya strays in?"

A small smile blooms on Ichigo's face when Izuru, Momo and Rukia all automatically turn to lay expectant eyes on the killjoy par excellence. All in all Toshiro's health seems to benefit from the silent trial, since an alluring rosy red blush creeps over his cheeks as he shrugs begrudgingly. Assuming that's not more telltale sign of high fever, that is.

Worry creasing his forehead, Ichigo goes back to his clinical scrutiny.

December 20th comes and goes. The med student can't help but scoff bitterly at the irony: for the first time in years he will not be returning home for Christmas (his old man was very understanding when Ichigo expressed the wish to stay at Renji's side during the holidays) and they're not celebrating Toshiro's birthday anyhow. Once, he'd have happily taken it upon himself to arrange something, be it a friendly though not crammed – it's still Hitsugaya Toshiro we're talking about here – surprise party, or just a tête-à-tête for the two of them. But it no longer feels like his place to do such a thing. To _care_ for such things.

If only his heart and body could follow after his rational standstill, now that would be going somewhere.

* * *

_**January**_

One thing about this little ski holiday Renji insisted on them having was clear from the very start: nobody wanting to risk a repeat of the summer vacations, they would so be taking the train to the small mountain village good old Kuchiki-taichou found them 'pulling some strings here and there', as Renji elusively put it.

Of course there are two sides of each coin, Ichigo smirks to himself while following with consistent interest the scene rolling before his eyes.

"Butt over."

"Heh? I was sitting there, y'know."

"…"

"… then again, we can share the bench, right?"

"Please, try and refrain from embarrassing yourself, Abarai. You draw shame upon one agent, you stain the whole law enforcement agency."

"I'll take it that's a no, huh?"

"Go get me coffee from that vending machine over there. This will save you the pain of being up with nothing to do."

"Ever the caring one, Chief."

Snorting to himself in amusement, the carrot-top shoots a sympathetic grin his tattooed friend's way (Renji flips him off), before twirling around and shove his fists down his pockets, eyes glued to a precise spot a few metres away, at the end of the platform.

Hell, you'd think Toshiro's incessant pacing in circles would have dug a hole in the concrete by now. Ichigo grunts under his breath as the snowy head switches his phone hand for the umpteenth time, silver brows pushed so tightly together the pretty face is bound to get permanent old man wrinkles. Not all that unattractive if it's still Toshiro underneath the slackened skin, but still. The mental picture brings a reluctant, borderline melancholic smile on Kurosaki's lips.

Growing old together, side by side, like those amazing aged couples you meet sometimes on the streets… there was a time that, too, had been a valid perspective. Then Ichigo had averted his gaze for the briefest moment, and when he'd turned back around it was off the table. Just like that.

Okay, so what if his briefest moment had consisted of several years of utter blindness followed suit by months of cat-and-mouse playing, a personal derailment, Toshiro's career tumbling and the whole giant Tatsuki alarm. To each their own and each at their own pace, right? Ichigo just happened to be disgracefully slow at figuring out what he wanted. But, well, he has now. He, he knows. He –

"Since these were good news, I must assume I get to hear the bad ones now."

This line is uttered considerably louder than the others to drown out the announcement of a train delay (_their_ train delay, oh joy, Byakuya's gonna throw a fit), so Ichigo doesn't even struggle to grasp it. Further intrigued by the conversation going on, the redhead contents himself with hearing one side of it and casually strolls closer to the source of the sound.

Toshiro keeps silent for several minutes, his features scrunched up in contempt as the typical station commotion hinders his communication. Then, a tight: "Please, don't get me wrong. I really appreciate what you and Kyoraku-sensei are trying to do, but this is in no way what I had in mind."

At the mention of the familiar name, Ichigo blinks repeatedly, caught like a deer in the headlights. What could possibly professor Kyoraku Shunsui, art historian and Ukitake's stalker by default, have to do with Toshiro is beyond his understanding. He's hell-bent on finding out, though, and sacrifices his supposed discretion to edge blatantly forward on the platform, well within the sportsman's earshot.

But before he can take advantage of his privileged position right behind a conveniently placed pillar, the carrot-top feels someone sneak at his back and whips around to find Rukia, hands planted on her hips and a very expressive scowl on her face. "Jesus Christ, Berry, leave the guy alone! Or grow a pair and go talk to him. Either way, eavesdropping on his phone calls is just plain creepy, you know."

The bite in the girl's tone ticks Ichigo off in a trice. "I'm not eavesdropping – what about you, then? Think I can't tell you've been giving me the eye all through the morning? That scary brother of yours is rubbing off on you. We don't need any more cops around."

"Leave nii-san out of this! Damn, Ichigo, you do this every time. But, you know what?, that's fine by me. Go ahead, put up your stupid shields and snap at your friends for trying to help. If that's what it takes you to be at peace with yourself." Rukia drifts off in such a haughty, patronizing manner the lectured youth scoffs derisively.

"What are you, my conscience? I'll let you know I'm perfectly fine with myself as it is, _friend._"

"You don't have to tell me that." The petite raven crosses her arms over her chest, before gesturing with her chin towards the unaware silverette grunting in his phone a few paces away. "But if you can't let go of him after all this time, then it's really yourself you're trying to convince."

Following the direction of Rukia's gaze, Ichigo curses in his mind as he realizes the nosy girl succeeded in distracting him from his scrutiny. He clearly missed a crucial part of the conversation, for the next words he catches from Toshiro make absolutely no sense to him.

"I'm not sure there's such thing as a feminine way to do that, but…" The footballer trails off weakly, nibbling on his lower lip, and Ichigo is disoriented by the flush rising to his cheeks.

Okay, so just what the hell is this all about and why is Toshiro looking flustered because of someone other than – possessiveness mounts in the redhead's throat and squeezes, cutting his breath off. Choking on his spit, Ichigo turns to shoot a murderous look Rukia's way, before spinning back around and setting off, now more than determined to get to the bottom of matters.

Once again his former lover steals his thunder, though, and hangs up with a few muttered words Ichigo can't grasp right as the med student approaches him. They stand awkwardly in front of each other, Toshiro offering an opaque appearance of a smile as to prompt the other to speak first. And speak Ichigo would, if he only could come up with something to say that wouldn't make him sound like a crazed maniac or a jealousy riled up girl.

A high-pitched ring breaks through the air then, signalling a train entering the station. Thrown off balance, the ginger opens his mouth, but Toshiro beats him to it.

"Finally, that's ours."

"It was announced to be late."

The athlete shrugs nonchalantly, moving to sidestep Ichigo in the meantime. "Good thing it's not, then."

"Hey." Hitsugaya looks at him questioningly, and the would-be doctor stares away in a bout of self-consciousness. "Who was that on the phone?"

The emotional rollercoaster that can be spotted crossing Toshiro's suddenly wide eyes is nothing Ichigo could ever hope to describe. There's surprise, alarm, panic even, at first, changing into a righteous resentment, a stern graveness, diffidence, restraint in a second. The ginger's heart only quivers in his chest, though, as a certain anguished impatience, a guilty frustration, awkward secrecy, tongue-tied hesitation and thousands, thousand hundreds sputtering, trembling, hiccupping feelings flash across the footballer's face to peak in a mortified blush that mirrors Ichigo's bit by bit. This instant, with Toshiro saying more than words care to convey, this tiny fraction of time where everything stills and no sound is heard but a hummingbird heartbeat, _this_ moment fills Ichigo to his core, seeps through him, bathes him in immense love, immense fear.

"That…"

"Midget, Berry! Come on you slugs, that's our ride!" Renji's call flies through the air like a bullet hitting right home, killing the words at the back of the silverette's throat. Teal eyes flutter apologetically; then Toshiro is facing away, hurrying to catch up with the gang on the train, and Ichigo's courage goes back crawling to its farthest pit, from where he couldn't summon it if his life depended on it.

* * *

It's a tight, terse day, air chilling and still. The dew froze before melting, so the sharp pine trees are shining a crystallized green.

This cliff, Ichigo considers while swallowing the thick lump in his throat, hadn't looked so ridiculously high when they were just cable-trekking.

"Y-You are kidding me, right?"

"Huh? Whazzit, blondie? Wet your panties?"

"Now that's sexist, Pineapple."

"Why, I bet he owns thongs too. Might be wearing one right now, for all we know."

"Not even an idol would wear a thong in this weather, jackass."

"Let alone a good boy like Kira-kun!"

"Dream on, Momo-chin! Deep down you know it's always the quiet ones."

"Guys!" Izuru squeaks pitifully (Ichigo wordlessly sympathizes). "Unless your lovely bickering over my sexuality is helping me back down this godawful peak, I'd suggest you stop it this instant."

"Whoa, what's with the bossy tone? Don't tell me you really are scared!"

"Of course I'm scared! Have you stopped to take a bleeding look around, superman?"

Don't know about Renji but, being no superhero, Ichigo _has_ looked around. It's not like what he sees – hectares of fluffy white snow blanketing a steep slant whose uncanny quiet is ever so rarely disturbed by professional skiers bolting their way down at eyes-watering speed – excites him much, either. Or at all. Everyone has got their role in the group, though, and the redhead knows it's not his place to be all girly and sensible. He's just going to stand back and trust Izuru with that; if luck be on his side, they'll be Doing The Right Thing and taking the cableway down before lunchtime.

His eyes nearly pop out of his skull when Kuchiki Byakuya intrudes, hence messing up all conversation odds. "This piste is barely average. I don't see what's there to complain about."

_Uh-oh. _"Point is, I'm a less than average skier, sir." Kira ventures timidly, the force of his argument somewhat diminished by the reverential fear and exceeding meekness in his tone. "But, if you guys are up to it, that's perfectly fine by me. Not stopping you. I'll just take the cableway back down and see you at the refuge."

"The hell, blondie? The point of this whole thing is to stay together!"

"Well, excuse me, but I'd rather be an alive loner than a life-of-the-party goner!"

"Can you really be a _life_ of the party goner, though?" Standing right behind her brother in an instinctual search for protection, Rukia rubs her chin pensively. "That's kind of nonsensical."

"_You_ are kind of nonsensical."

"Ouch, Kira-kun gets scary when scared!"

"Haha, more nonsense."

"Come on, girls, I thought you at least would understand!"

"Why? 's that because girls are supposed to be little pretty shivering thingies clinging onto the strong arms of protective men? As if!"

"My my, even queers are doing sexism now. Just where is this world headed?"

"You know that's not – "

"COMPROMISE!"

The abrupt, raspy yell freezes everyone where they stand. Ichigo does a double-take before realizing it was the hitherto silent Toshiro who spoke, brows twitching dangerously and half his face sourly buried in a bright blue scarf. The ginger can't help the endeared smile that tilts his lips as he notices the chilling cold has painted his ex's cheeks a lovely shade of red. "Sleighs." Toshiro grunts in his scarf, the word muffled almost beyond comprehension.

When her cousin won't elaborate further, Momo sees to rephrasing the proposal herself: "That's right! We should take the sleighs rather than skiing, so we'd stay all together. Sure Kira-kun won't have a problem with that, too?"

"Oh, well… so long as I don't have to ride by myself?"

"No way, we'll go in twos. Bet taichou's a winter sports champion, ne?"

"That is really none of your business, seeing as I won't be riding in with you."

"You won't? Then who are you choosing over me?"

"Anyone here would be a much more trustworthy partner than you, but for the record, I'm riding solo."

"Aaaaah, taichou's a real wuss."

"I dare you to repeat that."

"Soooo, Kuchiki-san is going by himself, obviously Rukia and I are together… we need to rent four, right?"

"Ah, yep. Three couples and one boring boring lonely old man."

"I'll let you know your legitimate license days have just expired one word too many ago."

"Wha? You can't do that!"

"What's there in the concept of 'boss' you can't quite grasp?"

The nasty banter continues with much whining on Renji's part as Momo and Rukia briefly disappear to make arrangements, dragging Tohiro and Izuru along because "carrying heavy weights is men's job!". _So much for feminism_, Ichigo keeps himself entertained with the thought as he waits, and waits, and waits, trying to shut the agents' obnoxious fighting out and only concentrate on his plan.

For today is the day he takes that sexy little bull by the horns.

Ichigo tried, really. Tried and failed to convince himself to stay out of Toshiro's hair and, more importantly, out of his business. Because he shouldn't care. And he has no right to. Still, he does, and couldn't be brought to just close his eyes and pretend it's nothing, especially if Toshiro is ill. That would be highly irresponsible from a medical point of view, no matter what Ukitake-sensei says – Ichigo called the man to pester him about his suspicious meeting with Toshiro in December, and the long-haired surgeon, after fidgeting around for ages claiming that he was bound by professional confidentiality and this was extremely unbecoming and did Ichigo really wish to get him into trouble?, swore Hitsugaya-kun was perfectly healthy and there had been different motives to their meeting at the studio. Which, predictably, only alarmed the redhead more. All the prodding and coaxing and sweet-talking and threatening in this world didn't work on the ever so diligent physician, however, and Ichigo eventually resigned to look for answers himself. So, today's the day Toshiro will spill it, and so will Ichigo, for secrets are stupid and wrong and damn complicated, only burdening their keepers with vile dark guilt.

But there's more. Today's also the next to last day of their little journey, meaning tonight's going to be the last night.

He doesn't have much time left to carry out his plan.

The girls are back alongside their loaded assistants (who, Ichigo scathingly notices, are dragging two sleighs each) mere seconds before blood is shed, whether as a result to Byakuya and Renji's bitching or Ichigo's ultimate control snap. Snatching a tow-rope from Kira's hand, Rukia drags her selected sleigh to the very top of a small hill degrading sharply all the way down the ski run. "We'll set off from here." The girl cheerfully declares, the sinister glint in her eyes openly daring anyone to object. "This way we'll pick up speed gradually and it will be easier to keep our balance. Ready, Momo-chan?"

"Sure thing!"

"Wait!" Grabbing a tow-rope himself, Renji steps after the girls, a cunning smirk on his tanned face. "How about we make things a li'l spicier with a bet, huh?" The tattooed man crouches in the thick snow and palms the fluffy surface with a gloved hand to test the consistency. Then, seemingly satisfied, gets back on his feet, grinning. "Those on the sleigh hitting the bottom of the gorge last treat everyone to lunch!"

"You want to make this a race? Are you out of your mind?"

"Stop being such a worrywart, blondie! Say what, if that'll make you feel better, I'm riding in with you. On my officer honour, we're sooo mooching lunch today!"

"Your officer honour? Tch. The poor boy."

"Thanks a bleeding bunch, taichou. Your enlightened opinion was not requested, though."

"And here goes your duly paid overtime for the next three months."

"Are you shitting me? I need the extra money! I'm paying in instalments for this journey!"

"Your problem."

"Stuff it! I always knew my boss was a tight-assed, all work no play dull prick, but a sadistic bastard, too? The guys at the HQ were friggin' right about you!"

"You're on unpaid compulsory overtime for the rest of the year, agent Abarai. That, and one more word will have you suspended for insubordination."

"So meeeeeeean, taichou!"

This time, Ichigo makes his move before Toshiro can make his. _Target in sight_, flashes before warm hazel eyes as two long legs drive Ukitake's subordinate towards his goal.

The small silverette is slightly startled by the sudden pressure of a large gloved hand on his shoulder. _Gauge angle…_ "Hey. Ride in with me?"

… _fire!_

* * *

It's not like Toshiro had much of a choice, Ichigo admits to himself while brushing wet, melting snow off his hair. But to bend left to dodge a kid (honestly, what's wrong with parents these days? Take fucking children skiing on such dangerous slopes) and end up running straight into a very tall, very visible pine tree, it's just, well… pretty un-genius like.

Ichigo would take the chance to laugh mercilessly at the supposed smarthead's coordination skills, too, if only said smarthead wasn't lying facedown in the snow, limbs sprawled and possibly twisted at an unnatural angle. Doctor instincts kicking in, the redhead crawls on all fours and approaches the smaller body trapped under the sleigh, inspecting the damage. "Oi, kid. Still with us?"

A long, drawn-out groan is all answer he gets till Toshiro tiredly rises on his elbows and proceeds to disentangle his legs from the steel blades. Water drips off the bangs on his forehead, while a small mount of thicker snow piles up on top of his head. Ichigo feels his chest ache with unforeseen tenderness as the boy shakes the snow from his hair vigorously, looking every bit like a grumpy stray pup. "Barely. Think I'm brainfroze." Toshiro grunts, digits rubbing softly against his temples as to ease the chilling vice. "Don't call me 'kid', anyway."

"Are you all right?"

The trauma caused by the fall must be really getting to Hitsugaya, slowing his brain process down considerably. Even his wording is stiff and strained. "Told you. Didn't hit that hard, you know."

Ichigo's heart thrums against his ribcage. He shakes his head no, and bids all hesitation farewell. "I didn't mean just that." _This is it._ This is really it. If this doesn't work, if he can't make it right now, he will let go. Cave. "Spit it already. I know you went to visit Ukitake-sensei at the studio." Because he clearly doesn't deserve an umpteenth chance. God knows he wants it, though. "Are you sick?"

Toshiro's hands-in-the-jam-jar expression is utterly priceless. The lovely blush that seems to be gracing the man's features every so often since they came out in the cold weather returns full force under the assault of crystal clear embarrassment. Ichigo stares intently as he sits up, straightens his back against the inimical trunk, takes his time to consider the question and all its possible answers. It gets too much to handle soon, though, and Toshiro's eventual reply is drowned out in the avalanche that is the ginger's venting.

"That – "

"Wait. Before you say anything else, know that I'm hell-bent on stopping you, this time."

The athlete winds both arms around his middle to keep himself warm as a flustered shiver shakes through his core. "Stop me from doing what?"

"Okay, if I can't stop you I'll go too."

"What are you _talking_ about?"

They're squatting down in the thick snow on a steep hill, far from their friends – they lost sight of the others right after the abrupt halt in their race – on a positively chilly morning, suffering from a quite spectacular post face first tumble trauma and wearing ridiculously heavy windcheaters of unlikely colours (Ichigo's is an unsightly musk green, courtesy of the poor offer at the snow equipment rental store) that take 'kill the mood' to a sodding new level; but the sun is high in the sky, Toshiro looks as attainable as they come, there's something frighteningly huge at stake and, wonder of all wonders, Ichigo's tongue is cooperating, not heading first for the other's throat, as it's been prone to do, but actually conveying his real thoughts. Feels like a long gone lifetime since he was last able to state what he wanted, and it's inebriating. Ichigo realizes he may be in for the greatest failure of his life, but damn him if he's ever going down without a fight again.

"Toshiro." The redhead begins, calm and collected. "I know you're not sick. I've been watching you. That, and I harassed Ukitake's ass for answers." He scoots closer subtly, never tearing his eyes away from the sportsman's dazzled stare. "I have no idea what you're up to, but whatever it is, I can't… I won't stand us being apart again."

These words bring an old, well-known gleam of resentment in wide teal eyes. "Why did you… never mind. Just stop it. Don't even go there." Toshiro lunges forward abruptly, almost banging heads with Ichigo in the process. "Do you really think I'm here to be played around with at your heart's content?"

So close proximity is allowed. Nice to know. "Who's playing?" Ichigo takes advantage of the discovery by grabbing his lover's arm to pull him flush against his chest. Well, the fluffy barrier of stuffing secluding his chest, at least. "I'm serious. I need you to know that." He breathes out heavily, warm breath fanning Toshiro's cheek. "This time's for real. This, this is the real thing. Us. You. I…" The silverette struggles to get away. Ichigo's frustration has hit the roof. "I love you. Doesn't matter how long you have and I have – the only thing that matters is that now I do. Stop punishing me for my bad timing, you know I'd go back and change the past if I could. Your obstinacy is getting us nowhere."

He can only imagine what part of his speech did the trick. Thing is, Toshiro has given up on struggling and is staring back with a somewhat pained softness in his eyes.

The sight is breath-taking. Ichigo's hand shakes in its glove like a fallen leaf left to quiver out in the cold as he carefully, carefully traces the contour of this perfect little face so close to his own. "I'm not pulling this out of my ass, Toshiro. Wouldn't lie to you like that. I… there are things I still need to fix, things you don't know of, but I will tell you. In time, I will."

Their lips play a little game of hide-and-seek, brushing against each other good-naturedly. It's a light gesture, easy as breathing, and is it just him or it's a tiny knowing smile that meets his every dive? _Bloody Mona Lisa_, Ichigo thinks fondly, then pulls back a fraction to make room for the words stinging urgently on the tip of his tongue.

"It's true that I've been unfair to you. I took it all, and when I woke up and realized I was ready to be the man you wanted, I got mad because you were scared. I couldn't believe you'd deny us when you obviously still felt for me, it was so frustrating. Then you left at the worst of times. I was going through a lot, and sought for someone to help me through. But you came back, and you were hurt, and I lost it. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Nothing felt right. I tried to get close to you again, but you wouldn't trust me." It's so lonely without Toshiro's skin on his own, Ichigo steals another refreshing kiss before reaching the end of his speech. "I can't keep doing this. If there's still something in our way, I swear I can't see it. You're leaving again, go on ahead. Just don't expect me to stay behind this time."

There, all out in the open. _Ball's on your court now._

Toshiro's reply composes of several calculated movements. First he touches the tip of his nose to Ichigo's. It's cold, yet intimate in a brand new way. Ichigo's breathing comes out laboured with passion, though if anyone asked, he'd just put on his brazen face and blame the height. Then a slender hand is crawling up to caress his jaw line, his ears, the sides of his face. It feels like Toshiro is trying to memorize his features, read them in Braille, which throws Ichigo off for a moment. _He's not really leaving me behind, is he…?_ The mere thought seems so illogical after he's just poured his heart out at the man's feet, but Toshiro is, after all, a little wicked thing.

Last come the words, though they're so cryptic they don't really do much to clear the air. "We're in January, you know that, right?"

"What's it got to do with anything?"

Toshiro must find Ichigo's clueless answer satisfying, for he moves to climb all the way into the ginger's lap. "More than you think." And he smiles, a timid but certain tilt of lips unfolding into a full, teeth and all smile, the likes of which Ichigo hasn't seen on him in ages. "Had to make sure this was not your December syndrome striking again."

_My Decem – what? _

Then he's being thoroughly ravished, Toshiro kissing him for dear life, and it doesn't matter anymore. The difference is stunning, Ichigo notices in a flash. There is no comparing this to any other kiss, any other boy, any girl even; _this_ is kissing someone whom you belong to.

Whom you belong with.

Toshiro shifts in his lap, inches closer than it's possible, whispers gentle nonsense on his lips; Ichigo moans in his mouth, cradles his head with both hands, breathes through the other's skin. It's the first, the most natural thing in the world, like one same action repeating itself in time, tinted with experience yet radically primordial. Ichigo is not exactly surprised, either. After six years, Toshiro is no longer before nor beside him; he's beneath, he's inside, he's nothing but few more body parts to move gracefully around, nothing but a second inhale, nothing but a different way to fix your hair, pronounce a 't', blink, walk, smirk, look around, nothing but a second heartbeat.

The smaller youth slides till his thighs are resting on either side of Ichigo's. Their groins clash together, and even through the thick layers of fabric heat seizes them both. When Toshiro plunges his tongue forward and grinds down hard at the same time, Ichigo hisses on the other's lips.

Fuck it.

Toshiro finds himself shoved back gracelessly and pinned against the trunk he was previously leaning on before he even realizes his lover has moved at all. Rising to his knees, the redhead nudges muscular calves apart and settles between the sitting man's legs, pressing his crotch firmly against taut abs and a flat stomach. The loss of delicious friction is not appreciated, as Toshiro points out quite effectively by whining low in his throat and lifting his hips urgently. Ichigo smiles to himself at the blunt message (when has his little ice prince gotten so bold, again?) and compassionately hooks his right arm under Toshiro's thigh, helping him up only to pin him again once his butt is no longer touching the ground.

The med student supports the shorty's weight with no effort and redirects his full attention to the intoxicating seduction of Toshiro's kiss. The velvety tongue toys with him, leads him on, catches him off guard and invades all the right places, drawing circles on the roof of his mouth, caressing his sensitive gums, pushing hot, wet spit down his throat. Ichigo can't get over how arousing the simple motion is, and suddenly feels his arm muscles go slack with pleasure. He's virtually forced to roll his hips sharply as to avoid dropping Toshiro; overwhelmed, the sportsman breaks their lip lock and gyrates back, whimpering softly while he rubs his now obvious erection up into his lover's responding hardness.

Ichigo's vision goes blurry with excitement. All the more reason to gently maneuver the eager silverette off his lap and take one or one hundred steps back. "Hey, hey." He tries, though his tone would probably sound much more soothing if it wasn't awfully husky with lust. "Better not get too carried away here, ne?"

Toshiro's eyes are droopy and dark, tantalizing. Before the ginger can lock all sense away and give in, though, the prodigy is gliding back and using the trunk for support to stand, legs not perfectly steady but firm enough to keep him upright. "Right." Toshiro concedes with a curt nod, his eyes scanning the white surface to spot any sign of the tow-rope they're supposed to use to move the smashed sleigh. "Guess lunch will be on us, too." His search is brought to a close by a strong hand flaring to grip his own.

Still sprawled in the snow, Ichigo holds the standing man's quizzical stare with a mute question trembling on his lips, lacking the guts to come out. All it takes him to leap off the ledge is a meaningful squeeze that reinforces the loosening hold of their joined hands, Toshiro's sign of agreement.

"Later?"

His lover's thumb traces the long lines of his fingers reassuringly. "Later."

* * *

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**Aaaaaand, next chapter is smex! =D After that, only a most necessary epilogue to go. **

**I can't begin to thank you for bearing with my author deficiencies, so I'm not gonna try. Just, thanks everyone who's read, fav'd and REVIEWED (seriously, you guys are priceless) so far. See you next! ^-^/**


	23. Twelfth

**Dangerously unbeta-ed, but I couldn't keep this baby to myself any longer. Dedicated to all my lovely, lovely reviewers, in the name of god Smut. *o***

* * *

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* * *

They sit across from each other all through the afternoon, and it's pure hell. Their legs brush under the table at lunch, Ichigo's foot stroking his calf tenderly and suggestively at the same time, and Toshiro is ever so glad for his outcast reputation, which makes it so that nobody will question his otherwise surreptitious silence. Ichigo manages well enough, his fake countenance smile firmly in place, but Toshiro knows those amber eyes like no other place on earth, and he can't miss their occasional narrowing with passion whenever some less than proper thought crosses the ginger's brain. The footballer finds himself blushing from time to time. Damn troublesome lover empathy.

And it gets worse, too. In the evening Ichigo disappears, his only clue a rushed "need to go take care of a few things" as he storms by his puzzled boyfriend on his way out of the inn they're sleeping at with the rest of the gang. To his utmost horror, Toshiro is left all by himself to face the Teatime Amenities showman Abarai generously provides once they're all gathered in the lounge room. It's like a choral exhibit, the idiot pineapple and the whining girls and the cheap gay jokes embodied in Kira's person, all orchestrated by that neurotic chief of police – a cruel, futile pantomime Toshiro endures squirming in his seat as he mentally counts down the minutes to go before nightfall closes the curtains on this little outing and the morning sees them travelling back home.

_Home._ Where a brand new page of his life will be awaiting, as he and Ichigo turned the older, wrinkled, torn and yellowed one together.

* * *

The inn's garden is bathed in darkness. The air is dew, yet somehow light, easy to slash through as the little sportsman treads on the blanketed ground, the main path flanked with tall, bony conifers eerily dripping with melting snow. Silence, a deep, sidereal silence blows through the plants, stilling the night, painfully clear and translucent against the sharp starry screen that's the sky.

He doesn't acknowledge Ichigo's return until a strong grip on his arm steers him off road.

"Feeling nostalgic, Snow White?"

The joke warrants him a punch in the arm. "Shut up, dork. Where the hell have you been all day? You know how I feel about crowds."

Ichigo is all black, his coat and scarf and gloves and even the eyes, anything but the creamy white of his pronounced cheeks. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I'll make it up to you." His smile, too, a pearly wound breaching his skin. "Come with me."

"Where to?"

He doesn't reply, and Toshiro contents himself with strolling after him, noticing with vague disappointment they're on the way back to the inn.

"Are we…?"

This time, the med student turns to smile at him, before bringing a finger to his lips in secrecy.

The inn embraces them with sweet, sweet warmth as they enter. Ichigo heads decidedly for the reception, a move which has Toshiro frown slightly. _Weird._ The others are probably upstairs in their respective bedrooms, packing for the morning. Are they going to check out already?

"Room 12, please."

"Right away, sir."

The exchange is brief and efficient, not to mention bemusing. Ichigo is practically glowing as he grabs the proffered key and leads Toshiro up the staircase, programmatically ignoring each of his lover's "what's the meaning of this?"s. The redhead turns around a corner and all but waltz into a secluded corridor on the 2nd floor, a private hallway with only two doors opposite each other. They stop in front of the one with the 12 plate on and Ichigo pulls the key out.

What awaits inside goes beyond the definition of cozy.

Warm, rich red-purple wallpaper. Feathery maroon carpet. No candles, thank god, but a few dim lamps lit all over. No food cart, but two promising bags on a neatly laid table. And if that bed feels only half as fluffy as it looks, that's more than enough to give clouds a run for their money.

Toshiro heaves a tremulous breath. That's all concession he makes to his inner astonishment, however, and he takes a controlled, thin-eyed look around. His eyes fall once more on the inviting table, and a crooked smirk stretches his lips.

"Thai? Seriously?"

Ichigo leans against the door, shutting it with his weight. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking." Was his voice always this sexy? A shiver runs down the footballer's spine. "This is not some mock replica of our delayed birthdays." Kurosaki walks forward into the room, swaying his hips reflexively. God, the weak lilt to his gait. That's a fair part of the reason why Toshiro fell for him in the first place. The smaller man is shaken from his awed contemplation by two firm hands landing on his shoulders and sliding upward to cup the sides of his face. "This is me unable to spend another night away from you."

Toshiro tries, he really does, to keep a stern face; but his lover's chest is warm under the touch, and next thing he knows their lips are joint way too harshly, too obscenely hot for it to be fair, to be pretty, even legal perhaps. Ichigo breathes sharply through his nostrils as he peels the jacket off his boyfriend's shoulders, and Toshiro wastes no time in mimicking the motion, his palms outlining those gorgeously shaped biceps as they are set free from their confinement. One brave hand travels lower, down the valleys and planes of Ichigo's abs, and a surge of raw lust quakes through him at the telltale hitch in the ginger's breath.

His fingertips dancing on the other's beltline, Toshiro pulls back just enough to hiss in his lover's mouth: "We can eat later, right?"

"Whenever you want."

Nodding in agreement, the snowy head resumes their kissing, plunging his tongue into the redhead's mouth greedily and hooking one leg to the other's waist in a clumsy, all instinct no finesse attempt to merge together in a most intimate way. Ichigo has no objections, judging by how eagerly he grabs his lover's thigh and lays him down on the nearby bed.

And, oh man. It really _is_ soft.

Toshiro mewls contentedly at the soothing feeling of white plush against his back. The sound is swallowed hole as Ichigo bends to steal him one more kiss, and another one after that, and another, and another still.

"You – "

"I missed this. God, I missed this so much." The silverette cradles the idiotic little orange head resting on his chest with both hands, their bodies pressed together from head to toe, Ichigo's discarded in a boneless heap against the lither frame of his lover.

_You're stupid_, Toshiro wants to say, but can't form the words – not with that full-grown man nestled in his narrow chest and dreamily petting the thick fabric of his sweater as though it had a worth of its own. The teal-eyed youth grinds out a nervous sigh. It sounds tense enough that Ichigo can mistake it for a sign of unease.

"Am I crushing you?"

_You're smothering me, and that's all I've ever wanted. _"Nh."

What, exactly, does Ichigo think he's doing? Gets a nice room, buys his favourite dinner, and then snuggles him like a teddy bear, rubbing his nose into his victim's stomach and moaning embarrassing, moronic things in his jumper. Which is feeling very much loved right now.

Toshiro snorts tightly. Oh, hell.

"Take off your clothes."

There's no doubting Ichigo heard him all right; still the ginger takes his sweet time, drops a few, lazy kisses across his lover's belly before rising to lock their lips in a quick peck and crawl back on all fours. The two men shed the heavy garments off with practiced ease, Toshiro just that wee bit more eager to achieve the task. From where he lies, Ichigo stripping is a total show, all the more so when the med student's slender hands reach down to unbuckle his belt. The mere sound of it, all metal and sexiness, has him fight a moan threatening to creep out. Ichigo doesn't seem to notice, and proceeds to pull down his zipper like he didn't have the most breathtakingly gorgeous pair of thighs the gods ever bestowed upon mankind. Toshiro scoffs again, just back-mindedly amused at how his every noise of enjoyment appears to be coming across as an indication of annoyance tonight. Worming out of his own denims and briefs, he keeps his gaze unfocused while waiting for the other to be done, in a desperate attempt to ignore those enrapt brown eyes fixed on his usually pale but now reddening oh-ever-so-slightly body. (_Heater's on_, and thus he seals the issue away.)

There's a bit of a silent teenage fighting when Ichigo moves to take off his partner's socks too, claiming with nothing but an assertive look there need be absolutely nothing in the way of their lovemaking, and Toshiro caves eventually, but for the sole reason that he knows he'll be longing for decent attrition later, when the sheets will be a wet mess all around them and Ichigo will be rocking his world down to its very core – oh man, they can't possibly get on with it too soon. The once-was whiz kid pulls the redhead closer for a kiss, and they finally merge again, Ichigo's delicious thigh sneaking between the athlete's to bring their crotches in full contact. The soft hairs down there brush together in re-acquaintance, and every single inch is there, ever so present, ever so real, and hot and smooth and oh my so hot, hard, tense, man and musky and ready and demanding and pleading and hot. Toshiro would spread his legs further, but he's impeded on one side by Ichigo's left thigh, and ends up only stretching his own left as wider as physically possible, in a display so brutally wanton it leaves the carrot-top shuddering.

"You cold?"

The silverette barely recognizes that voice as his own, gentle as it sounds. Ichigo props a kiss onto his mate's shoulder in response and shakes his head no, then begins stealthily sliding lower, his chin and lips and nose and brow tracing a stubborn pathway down the symmetric axis of Toshiro's upper body. His Adam's apple gets to the goal first, poked unashamedly by the purple head of the footballer's cock. Ichigo's mouth follows suit, opens to blow a kiss on the tender foreskin then moves even lower, bypassing the needy length to suckle softly at the juncture with the heavy sac below (Toshiro's shiver reaches the ginger as if brought by the tide).

_For the love of…!_

His dick twitches painfully as Hitsugaya throws his head back, jaw slackened in pleasure while a wet hotness envelops his balls one at a time, warm rivulets of saliva running down the crease of his ass, adding to the hallucinating arousal of it all. Ichigo's hand wraps around the base of his lover's erection, his thumb grazing lightly at the skin there as he dives forward, chin nudging Toshiro's perineum while his tongue expertly ravishes the swollen globes in his mouth.

"W-Wait, I-I… I…"

The med student lifts his head to bore lust-dazed eyes into their turquoise twins. "Turn over."

_Fuck._ Those eyes, and that voice, and it's _him._ It was always him, and now they did it, they're here, they – Toshiro complies precipitously.

Next thing he knows, his buttocks are being kneaded generously and spread, that lovely, lovely tongue feasting on his awaiting entrance. And, oh hell. Is _it_ awaiting. The athlete keens against his will when Ichigo thrusts in, then out and in again, fucking him with that piercing muscle in a way that can't not bring back memories. Toshiro buries his head in the pillow and lifts his hips higher at the same time, inadvertently making room for Ichigo to…

_Oh, sweet merciful goddess of – _

"Ah!" The obscene sound is virtually ripped out of Toshiro's throat as his lover lies down on the bed and slides beneath him, lips hooking onto his cock. The silverette can't help the crazy bucking of his hips as Ichigo takes him in his mouth and easily wins his gag reflex to let him in to the hilt. _How the fuck does he even _do_ this?_ Toshiro growls in his pillow and sneaks an arm under his own body to grab a hold of fine orange hair, desperate for a means of communication since things are heating up way too fast, and he's not – he hasn't…

He is only aware of the shameless quivering of his hole when Ichigo mercifully pushes two fingers in there, all the while working in earnest around the engorged erection prodding the roof of his mouth. Those heaven-sent digits move about inside him as if to reassert their unquestioned dominion over a long abandoned territory, and Toshiro's very muscles, living a life of their own, stretch to accommodate around the blissful invasion, welcoming it greedily.

His cock enters Ichigo's throat at the very same time as a third finger is plunged brutally in.

"Ow, aww, shit!" The astounding pleasure and the breathtaking burn both seize his body at once, and Toshiro clasps a fistful of Ichigo's hair to halt his ministrations. "Stop, stop _now._"

The sweet suction around his hypersensitive length ceases abruptly, Ichigo craning his neck to look up at the footballer from their awkward positions. "Too much?" A small, lewd smile graces god-given lips.

"Too long." Toshiro grimaces in discomfort as Ichigo pulls his fingers out none too gently. "I'm… not exactly… loose down there anymore." Damn, but this is embarrassing. The ex prodigy (who's not feeling very prodigious right now) looks away in shame to save himself the pain of watching understanding dawn on his lover's face. "Haven't been active in a while."

Toshiro does not realize his eyes have closed until, lots of blind shifting around and sourceless rustling of fabric later, Ichigo comes up to his face and kiss his lowered eyelids.

"You mean, since we last…?"

Oh, come on. Let's just hang the sodding banners, shall we. "Don't make it sound like it's such a big deal. I just didn't get the chance, is all." Toshiro grunts crabbily, and shies away from the touch.

Which returns in a moment, even more persistent. Ichigo covers his whole face in butterfly kisses, then finally lands on puckered lips and thoroughly snogs the pout off them. By the time they separate, Toshiro is feeling too dizzy to remember what upset him in the first place, so it takes him a moment or two to fully understand the meaning of Ichigo's parting whisper.

"Thank you."

_Tch._ Trust the tactless redhead to ignore a man's poor attempt at saving his face. For the sole purpose of distracting him and no other, Toshiro takes his mate's face in his hands and joins their lips again. Good thing Ichigo catches the drift this time and participates enthusiastically, perhaps too much so – Toshiro is still so sensitive, dammit, and all this tongue-fucking and grinding and rocking together is getting him disturbingly hot all over again. _Nnnh. _He strains to keep quiet but, his composure threatening to crack rather spectacularly when Ichigo moans in his mouth, the footballer settles for nice old dirty play and creeps a hand down to grip the ginger's member.

And look at this. The reaction is instantaneous, Ichigo jerking ferociously as his weeping head bumps into the rough texture of Toshiro's palm. His tongue sets a punishing pace inside the snowy-haired man's mouth, and when Hitsugaya retaliates by squeezing the life out his dick, he lets out an animalistic whine that reverberates through his whole body and ends up in a pitiful twitch in Toshiro's hold.

Ichigo wrenches his lips away and stares down at his lover, face flushed. The silverette gulps quietly, silently amazed at the wild throbbing in his hand. He can actually feel how desperately fast the blood is pumping in those thickened veins, and that only couples with Ichigo's sex-addled blank stare to build his own arousal to dangerous levels.

_That's it._ "Lube." He breathes oh so wantonly, and the carrot-top moves to set off him in a trice, only to be retained by Toshiro grabbing his shoulder. "No."

The dumbfounded look on Kurosaki's face is short-lived. Soon his eyes widen with mild surprise and a far greater amount of desire, and he delivers his lover one final hurried kiss before sitting up, thighs on either side of the other's form. Toshiro helps him getting into position, though slightly overwhelmed by the sight and feel of that perfect body straddling his face. _That's…_ He heaves a deep, strangled breath as Ichigo's manhood fills his vision, conquers his senses, becomes the centre of his entire world. This powerful drive, this insane urge, this fucking sick need he has of this man's cock is something that never stops to astound him. He's completely defenceless against the wave of lust that hits him then, and, eyes locked with Ichigo's, he obliges them both by taking the begging wood in his mouth.

"Nh… ah…" The needy groan could have come from either of them, Ichigo drowning in the heavenly heat enclosing his member, Toshiro delighted at the sight of his lover lurching forward to reach for the bedhead and support himself. He wastes no time in deep-throating the pulsing hard-on, hands firmly planted on the other's taut cheeks to spur him on. Legs trembling in excitement and distress, Ichigo starts a cautious pace, rolling his hips to ride Toshiro's face. His erection fits like a glove, and tastes like nothing he – tastes of pure life, seed, earth, power. Strength. The very strength Ichigo is fighting to suppress as he shifts his weight to avoid crushing the man beneath him, the same strength tensing his arm muscles as he clutches the bedpost for leverage, the strength in the hypnotic swinging of his hips and the sensual clenching of his buttocks as he increases his rhythm and, oh, oh sweet holiness…

Toshiro hums in lust around the throbbing rod sliding in and out of his throat, faster by the minute. Sensing his control wavering, he resorts once more to cheating; one of the hands holding Ichigo's backside ventures south, till his middle finger nudges the redhead's opening teasingly.

"Whoa, no… T'shiro…"

Kurosaki's complaint is drowned out by a far more genuine whimper of need as Toshiro tongues his shaft sloppily and the accursed digit inches backward to rub the sensitive patch of skin between sac and hole. His hips buck vigorously – so much his weeping cock slaps the silverette's face roughly – at the new feeling, his thighs clenching harder at either side of Toshiro's head.

"Don't! Wait, I… oh, nnnh."

He forces his prick back into his lover's hanging mouth and rocks his pelvis urgently, riding the other's face in a few energetic thrusts. By now Toshiro's hands have moved, one cupping his balls, the other tantalizing his twitching entrance, and the moment one finger slips in, strong and pressing despite the irrelevant width, Ichigo jerks back like a fury, his pleading manhood pulled out of Toshiro's mouth so abruptly it gets a teeth scratch.

"I said _wait._"

The tone is commanding, but hazel eyes blackened from raw desire sort of take the bite out of his voice. Toshiro watches mutely, intently, for a moment, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart and the restless throbbing below his own waist, unsure what to make of Ichigo's rejection aside from a very rude, very unfair snatching his favourite toy off his hands. Or, well, mouth. Driven purely by the blind craving for his partner's body, he hisses like a snarling cat: "Let me finish you off."

The ten seconds Ichigo takes to form a reply stretch to cover a lifetime in Toshiro's altered perception. Relief flows on the spot when the answer finally comes. "… you too then."

They exchange brief, trembling smiles and kiss hotly before rearranging their positions on the bed. Toshiro is ever so happy to hide his flushed face from his lover's sight and resume his previous ministrations upside down, at the same time as Ichigo latches onto his cock and moans around it, the vibration sending a spike of lust up Toshiro's spine. It quickly becomes evident where this is going – if Toshiro had hoped to work in tandem, he'd been sorely mistaken. Ichigo swallows him whole, his fresh start greedy enthusiasm no match for the whiz kid's dazed perseverance. Before long, Toshiro is gaping around the other's swollen length and struggling to spread his thighs wider, unearthly, embarrassing sounds wrenched out of his throat as the ginger blows him in earnest, rolling his tongue around then slurping at the hilt and go down again, growling hungrily as the oozing cock disappears down his throat.

"A-Ah… ahn!" It's no use trying to fight the ecstasy rising with the tide. Within minutes Toshiro is giving up, head thrown back, only waiting for the strongest wave to rock his body and leave him a wreck.

There… almost…

"Whoa, oh, nnngh, aah!" His near shriek gives way to a hoarse yell and he explodes, his legs thrashing convulsively about as he spurts inside Ichigo's mouth, the most powerful orgasm in ages ripping through him like a hurricane. Ichigo takes it to the last drop, then some more, pursing his lips as if to milk the leaking head for all it's worth –

Oh, oh fuck.

Is he _trying_ to make him come again? The fervent suction between his legs doesn't cease, only slows down to gently guide him through his climax. And it keeps up after that, lapping the scarlet length clean, getting in the way of its physiological softening.

His over sensitized member gives a pitiful jolt, and Toshiro reflexively hangs onto the unwavering erection dangling before his eyes. Ichigo's surprised mewl shakes through him like a vibe, and the silverette decides to distract himself from the acute sensations in his lap by sucking his partner off viciously, mindless of the occasional scraping of his canines on the warm flesh. Kurosaki whinges in appreciation and Toshiro doubles his efforts, suppressing the urge to gag onto the thick, pulsating intruder. An idea crosses his brain then, and the athlete smiles to himself as he moves his mouth.

"Ah, fuck!"

He can't see his face, but he can very well feel Ichigo's reaction as Toshiro dips his tongue into the crease of his ass, coating the puckered hole with spit. He mouths the quivering entrance, licks it generously, breaches it with his perched tongue (Ichigo pushes his hips back to meet the thrust, a wanton cry leaving his lips), then retreats it and begins suckling on it, rolling his moist lips on the outside, breathing hard through his mouth. The carrot-top's buttocks flex as the orgasmic tension starts to mount in his lower body, and the med student whimpers brokenly as Toshiro slides forth to nibble feathery-light at his swollen balls.

"Jesus… a-aah!"

Toshiro starts as his lover suddenly remembers himself and attacks his cock savagely, but it's too little too late, and Ichigo can't stay focused on his task for long. The smaller boy grabs the other's waist to keep him in place and goes back to eating the man alive, his tongue sliding in and out of the virgin hole with lusty frenzy. He alternates kisses and bites and thrusts, and suddenly Ichigo's sac is bumping against his chin brutally and the ginger is scrambling to get off him.

"Nnngah!"

Toshiro blinks stupidly to clear his hazy vision as he struggles to take in the scene before him. After rolling over abruptly, Ichigo lies on his back, breathing in harsh pants. One hand is pumping his cock furiously, viciously, harder and faster than Toshiro thought even possible, and as he brings himself off his watcher is hypnotized, aroused beyond reason by the violent treatment the ginger is reserving to that magnificent body of his.

A few seconds is all it takes for Ichigo to come with an almost pained cry, thick spurts of fluid hitting his abdomen and chest. Toshiro watches transfixed as his man slowly comes down from his high, every fibre of his being screaming for him to crawl closer and lick the pearly drops away.

Their eyes meet when the redhead turns, a sheepish smile flashing across his scarlet face.

"… Thai?"

The footballer glances at the bags on the table and grunts his approval.

* * *

They eat on the bed, a highly unhygienic practice Toshiro only allows as long as the sheets are spared and because, well, it's pretty damn comfy basking in the afterglow there. Once the leftovers have been disposed of, they shower – separately; which is awkward, but still less awkward than doing it together – brush their teeth and put on some clean underwear before going to bed. It's sometime around one A.M. and they're off to an early start in the morning. It would probably be wiser to… uh-oh.

Ichigo scoots closer and curls up at his side, smooth skin radiating impossible heat and fresh bubble bath. "Hey…"

"Mh?"

The ginger tucks his chin under the duvet, rests it on his lover's shoulder. "Have you ever… felt perfectly happy? Like all fits, no gaps or smudges."

A cool, squishy feeling swells inside Toshiro's chest, like a hitch in pressure that leaves him gasping for air and sighing in relief at the same time. "I think I know what you mean."

Ichigo's silent 'well, have you?' hangs in the air unanswered. Snorting under his breath, the athlete pinches his man's cheek, positive this will settle the argument.

Funnily enough, it does. Ichigo snuggles him (a very haughty, very manly kind of snuggle, if you ask him), seeks refuge in the hollow of his neck, plants a line of open-mouthed kisses there. "I can't believe you're really here. Thank you."

"What for?"

Beat. Then, the medic's voice, muffled by skin-to-skin contact. "For… not holding stuff over my head, I guess. For letting me do this even after all the shit I put you through. I don't deserve it." Toshiro shivers at the feel of a wet tongue tracing his collarbone. Ichigo all but moans as he oh so very discreetly shifts to lie halfway upon his lover's body. Perching his chin on the silverette's solar plexus, he shoots a glance upward, scrutinizing him through the longer orange bangs. "… you know contradicting me is fine on occasion, yeah?"

The ginger's petulant snort brings a smile on Toshiro's face. "It's not that you deserve it." His hand threads through Ichigo's hair like playing a lyre, and the man reacts every bit like an instrument, bowing to place a kiss on the musician's stomach. A shudder creeps underneath white, too white skin.

_Yes, please._

"It's that there is no other place on earth I'd rather be right now."

Ichigo chokes on his intake, then chuckles, freely and beautifully. God, his every breath leaves a burning mark on Toshiro's skin. They move in sync, like joint at the core, and before long Toshiro is spreading his legs to welcome the taller man who's bathing him in kisses. Their limbs entwine in a fervent heap; Ichigo kisses him and presses into him at the same time, wrenching a guttural cry out of the footballer's throat the moment their erections clash.

"Nnh… a-ah!" Toshiro wails before he can catch himself the moment Ichigo wraps one hand around his cock and starts pumping him roughly, with intention. His body language tells the silverette everything he needs to know – that it's no longer time for foreplay, and Lord knows he agrees wholeheartedly.

Things somehow tumble out of control from there on. Ichigo leaves him just long enough to collect a couple of things from the nightstand, and the sudden rush of cold makes Toshiro whimper in near agony, as though putting the smallest distance between them felt like one of his limbs being severed, or something equally devastating. Then the redhead rejoins him, their linked silhouettes forming a lump under the white sheets, and everything falls back into place.

_Right. So… right,_ Toshiro hums to himself as two dexterous fingers coated in lube slip into him and scissor him open. Ichigo pants softly above him, eyes tight shut in an expression of concentration so sensual it seems to reflect in the room around them, raising the temperature a hundred degrees. Toshiro couldn't stop bucking his hips into his lover's if he tried. Teal eyes roll in their orbits at the feel of Ichigo grinding his very much present erection down in response, and his breath hitching loudly causes the fingers stretching him to pick up their pace. They start fucking him almost brutally, and the tingling pain/pleasure sensation pushes Toshiro several steps closer to the edge at ludicrous speed.

"A-Ah! I-Ichi…" The slick noise of moist skin on skin drives him delirious with want. He's too dizzy to notice the difference when the two digits inside him become three, but he feels it to the very last inch when they are replaced by something severely bigger.

The redhead looks far from unaffected himself. The sounds that come out of his throat, oh god… Toshiro revels in the moment, his mouth opening in a silent "o" as Ichigo sheathes himself inside his boyfriend's smothering heat.

"Nnngh… aww, yeah."

They hiss in unison, Toshiro's voice embarrassingly higher-pitched. The carrot-top wastes no time in canting his hips back, but he's considerably gentler in the second lunge. It starts so slow it's unnerving, Toshiro's toes curling in the sheets as Ichigo swings lazily above him. His latex clad rock-hard erection slides in and out of him with a feverish squishy sound, and Toshiro's muscles clamp all around it in a desperate plea for more. "Ah… ahnn…"

Kurosaki grants him in a trice. He grabs a hold of Toshiro's butt cheeks to steady himself and snaps his pelvis forward, _harshly. _

The tip oh his cock bumps right into the footballer's prostate. Toshiro howls.

"God…" Ichigo lurches forth to moan in his partner's ear. His hips jolt as if they had a life of their own, and their rhythm is pure perfection for a long moment, till… "Sorry." He whispers wetly, and gingerly stalls his thrusts.

_Huh?_ Toshiro's sex addled brain can barely process his mate's hesitation, and his lust driven body protests forcefully against the interruption. He tries to smile it off and coax the ginger back into motion with a few well-placed kisses, but Ichigo won't budge.

"I'm sorry." He repeats like a mantra, blows it in Hitsugaya's ear. His voice is too low to tell with certainty, but Toshiro seems to detect a shade of utter anguish in his tone. Startled into focus, the snowy head strains to meet his lover's gaze. Failing: Ichigo distracts him with a punctuated thrust at just the right moment – _jesus god oh fuck hell need to, need to, to…_– and buries his face into the wanton athlete's neck, well out of view. His words hit Toshiro's skin before they even reach his ears.

"Sorry I ever did this with someone else. It should've always been you. Just you."

_Oh…That's…_ Toshiro sighs, torn between relief and an all special kind of rage, but Ichigo bites him gently while slamming his dick back in full force, and this really isn't good time for deep feelings talk, alright. He only does what he can now, that is cross his legs over Ichigo's rear to trap him there, where they're the closest humanly possible.

"_I can't let you anywhere near where it matters. 'Cause that's where it hurts the most." _

His own words echo in his mind; Toshiro snorts in quiet laughter and lets his eyes slide shut in peaceful bliss as Ichigo showers him with kisses and finally moves faster, taking them both to the innermost core of their lovemaking.

"_Have you ever… felt perfectly happy?"_

Toshiro whimpers ecstatically one last time and his buttocks clench mercilessly as he comes, Ichigo breathing hard on his lips as he follows suit with a hoarse "love you" crawling out of his throat. They stay intimately entwined till the orgasmic haze dissipates and leaves the stage to sleep, which claims Ichigo first, then courts Toshiro with nagging insistence.

His last thought before yielding paints an idiotic smile on his face, one that will most likely stay in place all through the night.

Definitely, this must as perfect as happiness comes.

* * *

In the morning, Ichigo lets him shower first and tells him to go on ahead. Though not overly fond of the plan, Toshiro resigns himself to meet up with the others without much desirable backup, and begrudgingly carries his luggage downstairs to join the rest of the gang in the hall.

He instantly knows that was a bad idea when a pregnant silence falls on the lounge room the moment he sets foot in it.

The look on Momo's face can only be defined as "guilty", and horrifyingly enough it mirrors that on Izuru's and Rukia's too. Even stone-hearted Captain Kuchiki turns to gaze with unreasonable interest out of the window, as though stating his foreignness to a crime scene (kind of ironic with his job, huh?).

Toshiro frowns. Sets his packed bags down. Opens his mouth.

And just like that, a mischievous smirk on his badass face, Renji pats him vigorously on the back and steals his thunder: "Congratulations…" The grin takes on an even lewder tinge as the pineapple points an accusing finger and stabs him in the chest. "… you _slut!_"

It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. Toshiro emits a pained gasp, then prudently retires behind a curtain of decorous brooding.

Damn cheap inns and their thin, thin, walls.

* * *

**.**

* * *

**Here we are, everyone. It's _really_ over. N****ext time's a most needed epilogue and my special thanks to all the amazing people who kept reviewing chap in chap out (namely my Kiki, SirenShadow and MelancholyDreams, above all others). **

**Let me know if you enjoyed...? ;)**


	24. Epilogue

– _Happy Endings,_

_they never bored me…_

* * *

Damn, but the crowd really is restless. No wonder, sure; how was that thing Midget always said, again? Some equation or another. Matsumoto was never good with numbers, herself.

As the line moves, the ginger can feel a pair of stormy eyes digging holes in her skin over the rim of thick, dark glasses. Her upper lip quirks in part irritation, part amusement as she finally approaches the door, only to be held back by a muscular arm darting out to clasp her shoulder.

"Not so fast, sweetheart… private soirée tonight." The bouncer – Ira? Iba? what was it again? – peeks critically over the black lens. "Hey, are… do I know you?"

Before the buxom redhead can articulate the smirk bloomed on her sunbathed face into some coherent snappy remark or another, a second bouncer, this one a nastier, bald counterpart bad n' nice cop style, smacks his colleague pretty viciously on the nape. "The heck 're you doin', moron? The lady here is that special guest boss entrusted to us." Then, turning to Matsumoto with a sugary smile, "Please follow me, ma'am".

_Ichigo really hires the weirdest people_, Matsumoto considers humorously to herself, then complacently tags along the gallant hipster as he shows her around the renewed _Gotei 13_, as it's come to look after the Kurosaki heir finally agreed to take club management upon himself.

Trudging blindly through the thick purple fog evidently meant as visual effect, she follows the increasing beat of the drums to a secluded dance floor by the bar. The sound of jubilant screaming reaches her ears before her sight can adjust to the poor light.

"Obaa-chan! You made it!"

"Promise is promise." Matsumoto mumbles through a handful of delighted Renji, Izuru, Rukia, Momo and just how many is there?, she never thought her arms to be so wide. "God, I missed you kids so much!" She reiterates in a steadier voice once the almost vicious hold lets up. The grin on her face reflects exactly the sheer enthusiasm sparkling in her friends' eyes. A sudden thought crosses her head at that. Matsumoto's expression takes on a pensive frown. "Say, what's with the big crowd out there? Thought Ichigo said this would be a private celebration."

"Yeah, but you know how these things go. One moment you're there, telling a dozen cheer-leaders they can bring a friend, the moment after you're gasping for air in a packed dark room, wondering where the hell you put your Martini and if it really is your boyfriend's hand the one glued to your ass after all." Momo deadpans in one go. Her little fantasy trip warrants Matsumoto's disbelieving laughter.

"Cheer-leaders? You've got to be kidding me!"

"Look for yourself." On Rukia's cue, the ginger lets her eyes scan the room critically. True, there is a suspicious majority of blonde, curvy things in bright nylon skirts. Matsumoto had noticed them before, but just automatically assumed Ichigo had turned to strippers to keep up his straight as a ramp façade. _Wouldn't put it past him._

"Toshiro has gotten himself quite the fan club in just one season. To think his team was left for dead this time last year!"

"To think his very career was left for dead, you mean." The red-haired visitor flashes an honest, tender smile at the (conveniently milder, might she add) Hitsugaya-taichou in her memories. "Good thing he had people to help him." One more look around reveals something Matsumoto is not entirely surprised to notice. "I don't seem to see many old faces. Guess they took it pretty badly, huh?"

The pained grimace stretching Renji's face tells her all she needs to know minutes before the pineapple speaks, loud enough to both drown out the music and startle a group of oblivious high schoolers nearby. "I don't blame them. First he ditches the university team to go pro, then comes back to play with the rival college! It's quite a big load of crap to swallow."

"Well, not his fault Kyoraku-sensei's assistant coaches the women's soccer team there and helped him get the tryout." Momo points out assertively, her family pride kicking in as she turns to Rangiku with a glow in her dark eyes. "You should have been there, he left them all lost for words. No one would bet on such a splendid recovery, after last year's downfall."

Renji tuts sceptically. "Locker talk has it Midget's former teammates asked for his head on a plate. Next season will be no joke."

"I may actually take an interest in soccer for the first time in my life!"

Momo punches Izuru on the arm, grinning openly. "You fat liar! We all know how you love to ogle all those hotties in tight shorts."

As the blonde chokes on his drink and starts spluttering, Matsumoto grins in ecstasy again. "It is damn brilliant to be back with you guys!" Then, with a teasing wink: "I should go pay my respects to our kind host now. Can you tell me where to find him?"

"Just follow the trail of sickening glee and sated lust, here's where you'll find them lovebirds."

_Lovebirds, really? Juicy._

And sure enough, there they are. Toshiro has his own special way of radiating joy, a very subtle, unassuming way, but low profile though he may be going, it's nowhere near enough to fool the expert eye of one Matsumoto Rangiku.

The red-haired reporter sneaks behind the buffet table with unheard of reverence.

* * *

"Maa, what are my drunken eyes seeing? Are you guys actually HOLDING HANDS?"

Admittedly, Matsumoto's idea of reverent could use some refining.

Ichigo's jerk is so abrupt the cake knife in his hand veers dangerously close to slicing across the woman's belly. "Shut the hell up! We were just – " Realization hits, draining all colour from his formerly crimson cheeks for a moment. "You…! I – did I hurt you?"

Rangiku's ear-piercing laughter comes, for once, mostly appreciated. "Oh, if you could see the look on your face right now!" The reflection of her radiant smile shines almost sinisterly off the blade in Ichigo's hand. "Relax, babe, I'm a tough one. Wouldn't have survived that safari shoot last spring otherwise." She opens her arms wide. "Give mama a hug?"

"Stop saying embarrassing things." Toshiro grumbles, but complies nonetheless. The woman's crowded breast welcomes the pair of heads as she wraps her arms around each boy's back, only releasing them when suffocation becomes an impending risk.

"So, did I miss something?"

"Not really. Toshiro was just helping me slice the cake." Ichigo shoots her a meaningful dark look. "And that. Was. It."

"Right, right. Tell that to the cops when they'll come investigate why you brutally murdered a long time no seen friend with a spatula."

"After taking a look at your chest, even a lousy cop like Abarai could tell our lives were the ones at stake." Toshiro objects in his best logic tone.

Granted, logic never did a thing to deter the volcanic ginger. "Aww, you still can't say 'boobs', can you? That's so sweet." Matsumoto pats her ex roommate on the back condescendingly. "Not that you'll ever need to, anyway. You realize you just jumped in to your cupcake's rescue, yes?"

The footballer frowns. "I did no such – " Then, furious at himself for falling prey to the girl's schemes, turns to Ichigo with a petulant hiss. "Remind me why on earth you felt the urge to invite her?"

"You are horrible. I stay away for months in the desolated lands, and all you have to say when I come back is, 'get outta here ye old bint, you're in the way of me screwing my ice prince on the table'?"

Ichigo's answer to Rangiku's whining is a somewhat husky murmur. "Trust me, if that was even a possibility, I wouldn't be held back by you or anyone."

"Wanna taste this blade yourself, Kurosaki?"

"Oi, Kurosaki-_sensei_! Congratulations on your degree!"

Matsumoto watches in amusement the group of pretty fit blokes who approach the buffet table, effectively killing the lovers quarrel before Ichigo lost some vital part or another. No wonder his gratitude sounds so sincere. "Thank you, guys. Have a piece of cake."

"Whoa, you really make the perfect housewife by now, Berry-kun!" The redhead can't help but tease, training her next blow onto Toshiro. "Did you do this to him?"

The athlete's reaction – a somewhat sheepish grunt – actually surprises her. "We're not even living together."

"Yet." Ichigo supplies, then adds to Matsumoto's benefit: "Next week on though, yes."

"Are you kidding me?" When no roaring laughter and horrified 'not-in-this-lifetime's come, the woman gapes in silent bewilderment. _Crap, they really are serious about this._ Naturally, Matsumoto being Matsumoto, silent doesn't last long. "Then we've got more than just Ichigo's degree to celebrate tonight!" She beams, and manages to squeeze both men to her chest once more before helping herself to a generous piece of cake and a flute of suspiciously whiskey smell-alike champagne.

Many of Rangiku's conversational 'hey, you won't turn out pregnant now, will you?'s later, the party starts dying out, restoring a short-lived quiet in the _Gotei 13_.

* * *

"Is everyone gone?"

Nodding in response, Ichigo shuts the stockroom door behind him with his foot and bends to put down the heavy box in his hands. "This was the last one." His voice is laced with sarcasm as he stands and straightens his clothes. "Thanks a bunch for your precious support. It really helped to know you were back here toying with your hair while I put all the drinks away."

Toshiro's instant reaction – denial – crawls timidly back to its pit the moment he notices his hand is, indeed, buried in the silver mane. He moves it to rest on one hip, aiming for the defied princess look. "How many times do I have to explain: this body is property of my team. All unnecessary exertion must be avoided at all costs."

"Oh, really?" Smirking despite himself, the Kurosaki heir covers the distance between them. Toshiro can't, for the life of him, tear his gaze away from the trademark swaying of those delectable sides. Sliding his arms to cross behind the silverette's back, Ichigo lowers his head to place a small, sensual kiss on his lover's neck. "I wasn't aware I was sharing in collective belongings last night. And the night before that."

Snorting to keep his cool, Hitsugaya all but shies away from the touch. "Yeah, well, it's not like my owners could sue you, or anything. It's just a college team."

The sharp tang of bitterness in his tone turns what was meant as a joke into a veiled rant that's becoming increasingly familiar these days. Ichigo lets out a deep sigh and hugs his lover again, stubbornly. "Don't talk like this. You know it's a great opportunity for you – "

"Yes, that's why I accepted." Toshiro snaps venomously.

" – and it's only temporary, anyway. It's but a matter of time before the professional league takes notice of your talent, and from there to Europe, well, it's a short step."

"I somehow doubt it." Comes the smaller man's sceptical scoff, followed soon after by a shake of the head. "This… tonight should be about you, though. We're celebrating your success." Toshiro shifts inside Ichigo's embrace and withdraws to look him in the eye. "You know I am proud of you."

The now graduated doctor laughs quietly, chin poised on the top of his lover's head. " 's always good to hear." Then it's his turn to pull back, eyes searching.

_When you love someone the way I love you…_

"Toshiro… I really want you to be happy with your life. And when – not if, _when_ – your job will take you away from here, I shall go with you. You won't get rid of me so easily." Ichigo's gentle smile makes the footballer's heart ache.

… _nothing's enough, even though everything's too much._

"Am I being selfish? I've wanted this…" Hitsugaya squeezes his lover's hand briefly in explanation "… between us for so long, and now that I've got it, I can't…" _make do_, he wants to finish, but knows Ichigo would take it the wrong way.

_Don't ever think I don't love you. In fact…_

"Not selfish. Ambitious, maybe. You always were, and I always loved this about you."

Damn Kurosaki. He just ought to have the perfect thing to say at all times, doesn't he. Anything clumsy, cold-hearted Toshiro could ever say will always pale in comparison.

… _I just long to be perfect for you._

He gives up words entirely and falls limp in the redhead's arms.

Ichigo forwards no complaint. He pecks his way down the snowy head's cheek and jaw, reaching the side of his neck once more. When he speaks, his words grow into open-mouthed kisses and take on the velvety quality of Toshiro's skin. "Will you let me try and make you happy just for tonight?"

That does it. Clinging onto his lover's shoulders with enough force to cut Ichigo's breath, "Don't be an idiot" the athlete growls, nose buried into his beloved's chest.

_Love is not all, as some claim._

Sensing the change in his partner's demeanour, the ginger tightens his hold and pursues Toshiro's lips. The silverette meets him halfway.

_And not all love is happy._

Their tongues rejoice in a familiarity built over the years. It's a funny thing to be thinking now, but Ichigo can't help recalling the last time he and Toshiro made love in this very storeroom. Except love wasn't really the word for it at the time. Or was it?, the medic briefly wonders, a pensive smile stretching his lips under the other's passionate assault.

_But, if it's you…_

Suddenly their bodies are merging, Toshiro's lifted from the ground and pressed against a shelf and, there it is!, acknowledgement paints his face as their shared memory of this place flashes through his eyes. It must trigger something in the back of his mind, for the sportsman's words convey a sentiment they rarely do.

_As long as you'll love me…_

"You love me,

… _even if it were not happiness…_

so I owe it to you to be happy."

… _that will be all I need. _

Toshiro's stony resolve brings a tender smile to Ichigo's face. _So childish, yet…_ "Okay." His whisper is soothing. _… so strong._ His movements are soft. "May I owe my happiness to you, too?"

Toshiro stays quiet through it all. The only sound to escape his lips is the airy moan he can't contain when he peaks, the heart of their lovemaking rippling through the two of them at once.

"Please do," he breathes at last.

Ichigo closes his eyes and complies.

* * *

… _Happy Endings,_

_they still don't bore me. –_

[Babyshambles – "Fuck Forever"]

* * *

**FIN.**

* * *

**There. Gone. All done! :D I can't believe I finally managed to put the word 'end' to this piece. ****It sure feels good to keep a promise. :) **Months and months of wallowing in my own author block, reading the same few paragraphs all over again, and then, just today - puff! I wrote the major part of this update in one sitting.

**Fair is fair: thanks to "Happy Ending" I met a dear friend of mine, whose birthday I'm celebrating today the best way I can. I knew the only thing I could actually do for you was getting off my lazy ass and get this done, so, there you have it. If this disappointed you, I'll be dead. Tell me if it did, but know how much power you're holding in doing as much!**

**My heart overpours with gratitude for all the splendid reviews I got over time. I really hope this update was the closure you were expecting. :)**

**I'll see you around. And remember, Feel the love - spread the love - feed the love: REVIEW! ;-)**


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